Harry Potter and the Book of Lost Souls
by OrchidSonata
Summary: Harry Potter thinks he is an ordinary boy - until he meets an honest-to-goodness witch! Soon finding himself enrolled in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his dull life is replaced by a magical world of infinite possibilities! But not all is well at Hogwarts; a hidden enemy lurks the vast corridors of the school - one that would see young Harry lose his very soul!
1. Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived

**Chapter I**

**The Boy Who lived**

**H**arry Potter of number four, Privet Drive, had never lived quite what you could call a normal life. For starters, he slept in a spider-filled cupboard beneath the stairs and had done so for most of his ten years of life. His parents had been killed in a car accident when he was barely more than a year old, and so he now lived with his only remaining relatives, the Dursleys.

Turning over in his bed, he was now desperately trying to ignore the sound of his Aunt Petunia banging on the cupboard door. It was, of course, no use.

"Up, I said!" she screeched. "You'd better not cause Duddy to be late for school!"

"I'm nearly up," said Harry, rubbing at his eyes.

Rolling to his feet, he shook a spider from his large, round glasses and got dressed. Stepping out into the hall, he immediately ducked under the beefy fist of his cousin, Dudley, as he went running past on his way to the kitchen. Already sitting at the table was Uncle Vernon, whose purple face was twisted into an impatient frown.

"Hurry up and finish breakfast, boy!" he bellowed as Harry entered the kitchen. "I've a meeting scheduled for eight-thirty!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," said Harry, making his way over to the cooker to turn the ham and eggs his aunt had started on.

Unlike his own, the lives of the Dursleys were _perfectly_ normal, thank you very much. So committed to their normalcy were his aunt and uncle that Harry was often treated as something of a dirty secret that they preferred not to acknowledge when possible—unless they needed him for chores.

"Finally!" said Uncle Vernon when Harry slid four plates of eggs and ham onto the table, narrowly dodging a kick from Dudley when he passed by his seat.

Much of the day was often spent keeping out of reach of his cousin's fists and feet. Fortunately, if there was one thing Harry had going for him, it was speed. Though he never stopped trying, it was seldom that Dudley could catch him.

In contrast to his beefy cousin and uncle, Harry was rather short and skinny for his age, with a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. The oversized hand me downs he was made to wear only served to emphasize their difference in size. The only part of his appearance he liked was a thin scar on his head in the shape of a lightning bolt—which his aunt made him cover with his fringe.

After breakfast, everyone except for his aunt piled into Uncle Vernon's car for the short drive to school. It wasn't far enough that he needed to drive them there, but Dudley hated unnecessary movement unless it involved hitting something.

"Engine's starting to rattle a bit much lately," Uncle Vernon mumbled to himself as he passed through Magnolia Road. "Should trade her in for a new car."

He hated it when his uncle bought a new car, because he would always act as if Harry would somehow try and damage it.

"Have a good day at school, Dudley," said Vernon cheerfully, ruffling his son's hair. He then turned to Harry and shoved a beefy finger in his face. "Behave yourself, boy!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," said Harry.

He then practically leaped from the car and sprinted to the entrance of St. Grogory's Primary School, hurrying down the hall to his Year 6 classroom. Every weekday was a rush to get to class before Dudley could unite with his gang of bullies, who were feared by every other student there.

Settling into his desk, he unzipped his school bag and began unloading his stationaries. Mrs. Graham was already behind her desk at the head of the class, and as usual threw Harry a wary glance when he entered. Ever since her wig had somehow turned blue last year, she had been slightly skittish in his presence, as if it were his fault.

"Everyone, please take out your maths set books," said Mrs. Graham once she had taken the registry.

Several of the students groaned. Today was Fractions, the favourite subject of exactly no one. As he reached into his bag to retrieve his maths book, a flash of yellow in his periphery caused his head to snap to the window.

There was nothing, save for the empty playground in the distance.

Deciding that it must have been a passing car, Harry returned his focus to the blackboard Mrs. Graham was currently writing on. While he was mostly safe in class, lunch and PT always offered Dudley another opportunity to ambush him, if some other unfortunate victim hadn't caught his attention.

Said victim today was an unlucky Year 5 boy who had made the mistake of being first in the cafeteria line. While Harry could greatly sympathize with him having his stomach pummelled right after eating lunch, there was little he—or anyone—could do to stop them.

Sports lessons that afternoon saw them being divided into teams for a game of football. Per the norm, Dudley and his gang shot threatening glares at their teammates if they even hinted at wanting to pick Harry. His cousin liked them to be on opposite teams; it made it easier to have "accidents".

While he was waiting to be the last one chosen, a distant glimmer drew his attention to a hedgerow. This time, he was able to make out two distinct pinpricks of yellow before they once again vanished from sight.

He now doubted that what he had seen was a car. For one, the hedgerow was too low for one to fit behind without him seeing it. The twin lights had also been much closer together than the lights of any car he had ever seen.

"Harry Potter," groaned out one of the team captains, making sure to sound appropriately crestfallen about it.

Despite everyone's forced reluctance to have him on their team, Harry wasn't a bad player. He was easily the quickest on the field and wasn't bad at kicking either. Unfortunately, he rarely had the ball, as Dudley's gang focused all their attention on chasing him.

The bright side of this was that his team wound up winning the game, as half the other side was busy chasing after a single player while their opponents scored goals with impunity. It was perhaps just a little satisfying knowing that the player everyone had to pretend to hate was the one that guaranteed victory for their team.

After school ended, he quickly started on his way back to Privet Drive. As St. Grogory's let out far earlier than Uncle Vernon got off work, they had to walk back home. It was the part of the day Harry looked forward to most, because it was his only reprieve from his relatives—Dudley often occupied himself by terrorizing the area with his gang instead of going after him.

For that reason, he usually took his time getting home. Sometimes he would sit at the playpark by Magnolia Road and watch the children swing from the climbing frames, or visit the shops on Wisteria Walk, even though he had no money to spend there.

Today he found himself wandering down Magnolia Crescent in his effort to procrastinate. While not quite as upscale as Privet Drive, it was still a fairly well-off neighbourhood. The fact that the lawns weren't quite so perfectly manicured actually made it feel a bit warmer.

It had gotten considerably darker since he had left school, the sun having been swallowed by the blanket of storm clouds that now covered Little Whinging. The march of thunder and the occasional damp prick against his skin told Harry that he had best hurry; Aunt Petunia hated it when he dripped water onto the floor.

As he prepared to sprint back to Privet Drive, another far off glint of yellow to his right caused him to immediately freeze in place. Swallowing heavily, he avoided glancing at the light until suddenly, in a flash of movement, he turned all at once to face it.

This time he saw it much more clearly—two enormous yellow eyes staring back at him from the slightly messy hedge of a distant house. They were far too large, and far too _bright_ to belong to a person. His first thought was that it was some sort of animal, maybe a dog. But he had glimpsed those same eyes staring at him at school, and now they had _followed him_ nearly to his home!

And then, just like before, they vanished without a trace. Feeling as if this was quite a fine idea, Harry ran harder than he ever had before, his legs burning with the strain of his momentum. Even all the times when Dudley's gang had chased him seemed less frightening, since at least then he could _understand_ what he was fleeing from.

By the time he set foot in his house, his hair was damp with sweat and he immediately keeled over to suck in several desperate lungfuls of air.

What _was_ that, and why had it followed him?

"You! I should have known!" screeched Aunt Petunia, entering the hallway from the kitchen with her horse-like face twisted into a scowl. "Are you trying to break the door, slamming it like that? And why are you covered in sweat? Well?"

Harry hadn't even realized how hard he must have closed the door behind him. "I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia, but I…"

"You _what?"_ she demanded.

"I was being chased by a dog," said Harry slowly.

If the thought of him possibly being mauled conjured any sympathy within his aunt, then her contemptuous frown certainly didn't show it. "Well, that's no excuse for rattling the windows. Now, go and wash up so you can help me start on supper."

Lurching up the stairs on heavy legs, Harry removed his sopping clothes and climbed into the shower. The warm water rushing over him helped to calm his nerves enough that he could properly consider what he had seen.

Could it have really been a dog? He wasn't sure he believed that, despite what he had told his aunt. Whatever it was, it had patiently waited for school to end and then quietly followed him until he was nearly home. What sort of animal would do _that?_

While they had supper, Uncle Vernon talked about how he had stopped to look at cars while on his way home. "The one that _really_ has my eye is that black Vauxhall Astra, even if it's overpriced. A load of con artists, these dealers!"

Harry almost found himself asking if his uncle had seen any strange, yellow lights on his way home, but had quickly thought better of it. Uncle Vernon would have almost certainly been in a far worse mood if he had seen anything so abnormal.

Sleeping that night proved difficult. The more Harry thought about the eyes, the less frightened he felt. They were mysterious, something out of the ordinary for his dreary and miserable life with the Dursleys. When he was younger, he had often dreamed that some hitherto unknown relative would show up to whisk him away from Privet Drive.

He knew better now, and so he would happily accept the distraction. It wasn't as if whatever it was had tried to _hurt_ him, after all.

The next day, Harry watched for any glimmer of yellow at school and was soon rewarded when he caught the eyes staring down at him from a tree during break time. Like before, they immediately vanished when he faced them, but he wouldn't be deterred.

Gathering his courage, he cautiously approached the tree. He could feel his heart beating slightly quicker, but he was determined to keep his calm this time. There was still no sign of the eyes as he stepped closer, but he could hear a subtle rustling within the thick leaves overhead.

"Hello?" said Harry slowly, feeling somewhat foolish immediately after. Could it even understand English?

More rustling could be heard, but the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps on the grass behind him forced him to tear his eyes away. Dudley and his gang had arrived.

"Are you talking to a _tree?"_ asked Dudley snidely. "Finally gone completely mental, haven't you?"

His gang—Piers, Dennis, Gordon, and Malcolm—all laughed at his joke.

"No," said Harry, "I thought I saw somebody behind the tree, is all."

Dudley tottered to the side, squinting his eyes rather foolishly to see if anyone was there. Harry wanted to use that opportunity to flee, but the remaining gang had moved to encircle him. Feeling his back press up against the tree, he realized all too late that he had been trapped.

"You made us look bad during sports yesterday," said Dudley, having righted himself. "It's your fault our team lost."

"Really?" asked Harry incredulously. "I'm pretty sure you lost because you spent the whole game chasing me—and not even very well."

Dudley's face scrunched up until it greatly resembled dried pork, his fists balling at his sides. Harry would normally be able to easily dodge his cousin's inevitable lunge and flee, but with his gang now surrounding him, there was literally nowhere to run. He raised his arms to protect his glasses from being damaged any worse than they already were. There was only so much Sellotape could fix.

Altogether, Dudley's gang leaped forward and promptly fell onto their faces. Harry blinked, looked down and saw that their shoelaces had all been tied together. Confused but not wanting to waste his only chance to escape from the bullies, he charged forward and leaped clean over Piers Polkiss, who was staring at his feet with a baffled expression.

"He…he's getting away!" shouted Dudley, and Harry looked back to see him attempting to use Gordon to climb to his feet, only to send them both spilling onto Dennis, who yelped rather sharply beneath their weight.

A spark of yellow drew his attention back to the tree, the eyes briefly staring after him before disappearing completely.

After leaving school, Harry was in unusually high spirits. He now felt confident that whatever it was that kept following him, it didn't wish to hurt him. Somehow, it had protected him from Dudley by tying up his shoelaces—that was the only explanation he could think of for what had happened. While it might seem a bit silly think that way about a pair of glowing eyes, it almost felt like he had a friend looking out for him.

He continued to catch brief glimpses of the eyes throughout the week, though he was never able to get very close to them before they would vanish. He would even manage to spot them while playing sports or other outdoor activities at school, yet nobody else ever seemed to take notice. At most, they would ask him what he was staring at or bark at him to focus on the game.

In the back of his mind, he started to wonder if he might really be going mental, like Dudley had suggested.

The odd thing was that he didn't want it to stop. He didn't _want_ things to return to normal. If there had been one thing he had always hated about the strange occurrences that often happened around him, it was that they never _lasted._ Whether it was a tiny man in a violet top hat bowing to him in a shop, or his hair inexplicably growing back overnight after his aunt had sheared it off, the reality of his life at Privet Drive was always quick to smother any flicker of joy they offered.

Perhaps it was his fault for expecting his problems to be magically whisked away.

Sitting down on a bench outside the playpark, he quietly watched a couple of kids play on the climbing frames. Magnolia Road—which was often confused with Magnolia Crescent by tourists—was a quiet, upscale neighbourhood much like Privet Drive. Dudley and his friends often liked visiting the park, as there were plenty of smaller children for them to bully. Today they were over at Dennis's house, playing _Mega-Mutilation Part Two_ on his Mega Drive.

It was now the first of April, and Harry hadn't seen the eyes since Friday. Neither during class nor over the weekend had they appeared, which worried him. Had things once again returned to the way they had been before? Or had they never changed at all? Maybe after nearly ten miserable years with the Dursleys, he was finally losing his mind.

Lost in his brooding, Harry had almost failed to notice the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning away from the playpark, he was surprised to see a pretty girl around his age standing in front of him. She was smiling.

"Hello there," she said, "is this seat taken?"

"Oh, no," said Harry, seeing her gesture to the space beside him. "Sorry, I'll move out of your way."

She tilted her head when he stood. "Oh, but it's surely big enough for the both of us, and I wouldn't mind the company, if you wouldn't?"

Harry wasn't used to people wanting to sit with him. No one would ever dare to do so at school, lest Dudley and his gang mistake them for being his friends. But Dudley wasn't here right now, was he? What harm could there be in it?

"Alright," he said, smiling. "My name's Harry. Harry—"

"—Potter, I know," said the girl, smiling back. "I'm Yaxley, Aelia Yaxley. It is an honour to meet you."

"Err, yeah," said Harry, gently shaking her offered hand. "Thanks. I don't remember you from school, have we met?"

"I couldn't imagine how. I simply know of you by reputation."

Harry felt his heart sink. Usually when somebody in Little Whinging started talking about his "reputation", they were referring to the lies spread by Dudley—lies which his aunt and uncle made no effort to refute, lest _Dinky Duddums_ be exposed as anything less than perfect. Because of this and his shabby appearance, many assumed that he was a "troubled youth."

"I'm not sure what you've heard, but it's _not_ true," said Harry firmly.

Aelia stared at him as if he had just declared that the sky was purple. Her smile was quick to return, however. "My, I never imagined you would be so humble!"

"Humble?" Harry echoed in disbelief. What did he have to be humble about? Maybe his speed, but was running away really well something to be proud of?

Still, this girl was unexpectedly strange, given her very proper appearance and manner.

She had a very pale face with high cheekbones that tapered into a hollow curve, dark blue eyes and wavy, golden blonde hair which fell past her shoulders. She spoke with a very formal accent, and wore a black floral dress that, while simple, looked like it was made from silk. Even the Dursleys would have little to complain about with her, except for the fact that she was speaking to Harry.

"You are, yes," said Aelia. "I had honestly expected _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ to be more boastful."

"The _what?_" Harry frowned. "Oh, I think you have me mistaken for someone else."

"Have I?" She quirked a brow. "Do you not have a scar on your forehead?"

"What!" Harry reflexively reached up to feel his scar, as if he needed to confirm that it was indeed still there. "How did you…how _could_ you know about _that?"_

Again, she gave him that perplexed look from before, like he had just said something ludicrous. "Why, _everyone_ knows about it, of course."

Well, Aunt Petunia wasn't going to be happy to hear _that_. Even when she had sheared most of his hair off, she had kept the fringe to hide his "horrible scar". The Dursley's worst fear was for the neighbours to think there was anything even the slightest bit out of the ordinary going on in their home.

"I don't understand," said Harry, shaking his head. "None of what you're saying makes sense; I got this scar in the car crash that…"

He had trailed off, the vague memory of that night flashing through his mind. That green light, the only thing he could ever recall.

"_Car crash?"_ said Aelia, eyes wide.

"The one that killed my parents," said Harry, finally. That baffled expression was back on her face, blended seamlessly with a look of abject horror.

"You think they died in a…who told you _that?"_

"My aunt and uncle, of course. I suppose you know all about _them_ too, right?" said Harry irritably, standing. This girl was quickly getting on his nerves, acting like she knew more about him than he himself did. Was this all some sort of cruel prank? Had Dudley put her up to it? No, this was far too clever for him.

"B-but your parents," said Aelia, standing as well, "they're _famous!_ _You're _famous! How could you believe—"

"Right, of course," said Harry, scowling at her. He had just realized what day it was—April Fools.' "I'm famous. Famous for being bullied and laughed at. Well, go on, have yourself a laugh. I'm going home."

But she didn't laugh. She didn't say anything as he stormed off. He was furious, both at her and at _himself_ for being so gullible as to think that he might have made a friend that _wasn't_ just a disembodied pair of eyes that he was probably imagining. Still, knowing there was someone out there (besides Dudley) who would be cruel enough to use his dead parents as an April Fools' joke made his blood boil. _Was_ she from school? If so, would he now have _two_ bullies out to make his life even worse than it already was?

After returning home, he immediately went for his cupboard, and there he remained until Aunt Petunia forced him out to help with dinner. Per the norm, Harry kept the events of his day to himself, which wasn't difficult—Dudley filled most of the meal with boasts of how he had outscored the other members of his gang at _Mega-Mutilation Part Two._ Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did their best to pretend like they understood half of what he was saying.

Come Tuesday morning and things were well and truly back to business as usual, with Dudley offering him a good morning punch on the nose as he left his cupboard. On the drive to school and all throughout his day he searched for any sign of the yellow eyes, but they were simply _gone._

Worse, passing by the play park now reminded him of the girl from the day before.

Even though he couldn't remember his parents, even though he didn't even have a face to put to them, it _still_ greatly upset him that somebody could think that their deaths were a joking matter. It was all because of that bloody car crash that he was stuck with relatives who could barely stomach the sight of him.

Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn't have been better for them all to have died together that day. Who would have really missed him?

Thankfully, dark thoughts of that nature were always fleeting. He had survived this long, and he wasn't about to give up. One day, he would be old enough to leave Privet Drive behind for good. Where he would go then, he really couldn't say. Whatever he decided on; it would have to be better than where he was.

By Wednesday, Harry's mood had improved, and he even offered his uncle a friendly "good morning" as he entered the kitchen.

"Your hair's too long, boy!" Uncle Vernon barked over his newspaper. "Go to the barbershop and get it cut after school!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," said Harry, sliding his uncle's eggs and sausage onto the table.

It hadn't been that long since his last haircut, but it could never be short enough for the Dursleys. They were just wasting money, of course; his hair was simply naturally wild and messy.

After they arrived at school, Dudley had tried to bully him out of the money he had been given for the barbershop, but Harry had expected this and bolted the moment he had started towards him. He was feeling quite good about having left his cousin in the dust, but this brief period of satisfaction was ruined when he was cornered in the hall by Dudley's entire gang before lunch and forced to hand over every note he was carrying.

This meant no lunch for Harry, but it could have been worse—he had hidden the money for the barbershop in his desk after first arriving at school, and thus Dudley (never the best with numbers) had left thinking he had stolen everything.

Following school, Harry detoured from his usual route home to head down Wisteria Walk where the barbershop (and several other small businesses) was located. For the briefest moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of the yellow eyes reflected in the window, but they were gone before he could even try and turn.

Sighing, he reached down into his pocket to retrieve the crumpled notes. That was when something _else_ caught his attention—the sweetshop. He had forgotten it was adjacent to the barbershop!

In the displays behind the front glass he could see Mars Bars, nougats, Turkish Delights, and Crunchies, just to name a few. His empty stomach rumbled. He had been given enough for a nice bag full of them.

Yes, Uncle Vernon would be _infuriated_ if he knew that Harry was even considering spending his money on sweets, but _really—_even if he _were_ to get another haircut, they would never notice the difference.

Having made his decision, Harry entered the shop and was immediately greeted by an old man behind the counter, his weathered face creased in a smile.

"All right lad?" he rattled. "Have yourself a look, we've a bit of everything."

They really did.

Taking his time to browse through the impressive selection of sweets, Harry eventually placed a rather heavy bag onto the counter. He stared only briefly at the notes in his hand before shoving them towards the old man.

"You enjoy that," he said, his face somehow creasing further as he waved to Harry.

The bag was heavy in his hand. He had bought more than a dozen items from the shop and could already feel his stomach rumbling in anticipation.

"My, but you _do_ love sweets, don't you?" said a familiar voice from behind him.

Harry almost smacked the old man in the face with his bag as he spun on his heel, his eyes fixed on the girl from Monday—she was wearing a blue silk blouse and black trousers now. Balling his fists until his knuckles turned white, he growled, "Y_ou!_ What do _you_ want?"

"I _want_ to apologize, firstly, for upsetting you the other day," she said, frowning. "I hope you don't think I was being purposefully rude?"

"Yeah, I _do_," he said coolly, brushing past her to leave the shop. She unfortunately followed him this time, causing Harry to groan. "Leave me _alone_. You're not getting my sweets, and I don't want to talk!"

"Allow me five minutes," said Aelia Yaxley, darting in front of him, "and then I shall leave if you still wish me to, alright?"

"What?" Harry gaped, taken aback by her blocking his path. Who did she think she was? "Are you serious?"

"Just five minutes, Potter."

Harry's first inclination was to simply run back to Privet Drive to escape this strange, possibly mental girl. Though he was certain she would be quicker than Dudley, he still felt confident he could outrun her. The rattling of his bag made him rethink this, however. If he dared to step through the front door carrying a bag full of sweets, he wouldn't be leaving his cupboard until the end of summer.

"Fine, _five minutes_," he snarled, barely able to believe her gall. "Then you _leave."_

"Wonderful!" Aelia clapped her hands, following along beside him as he departed the sweetshop. Her chipper smile was only serving to irritate him further. "I'll get right to it, then—I am a witch."

"You don't say," grumbled Harry.

"I _can_ prove it."

"But you already have."

His sarcasm was apparently not lost on her, for she started glancing about the area as if she wanted to make certain that nobody else was there. Since they had turned into the alleyway leading to Magnolia Crescent, they were alone. His frown deepened.

She reached into her blouse and Harry flinched away when he saw her holding what he momentarily thought was the handle of a knife. It was, thankfully, just a long black stick.

"This is a wand, it is used to make performing magic easier," she explained, holding it up for him to see. He must have looked rather unimpressed, because she quickly pointed it at the bag in his hand. _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

Harry felt the bag tear itself from his grasp, an unseen force causing it to rise into the air in between them. He fell back onto his hands, giving a startled howl. Aelia calmly snatched it from the air, glanced inside and then smiled down at him.

"That is a Levitation Charm, a first-year spell and the most basic form of _magic_," she said, offering him his bag back.

"M-magic?" he asked in a trembling voice. "That was just…it _has_ to be some sort of trick, right?"

His hands reached up to shakily accept the bag of sweets. Either she was the best magician he had ever seen (not that the Dursleys took him to many magic shows), or…

"Still not convinced?" said Aelia, her wand dancing through the air like the nimble brush of a painter. _"Engorgio!"_

The bag in his hands swelled as if it were an inflating balloon. This time he was certain it wasn't an illusion—he could feel that it was _heavier._ Staring down into the bag, he could see that every one of his sweets had doubled in size.

"You…really did magic just then? Then you're really—" He stared up at her, the words catching in his throat.

"A witch, yes…and you're a w_izard_, Potter," she said, offering him a hand up. "You can perform magic as well."

It took Harry a long moment to accept her hand, and even then, it was more of an unconscious reaction on his part. His mind was still trying to make sense of what he had just seen, and perhaps more importantly, what he had _heard._

No, that couldn't be right. He just misheard her; he was quite shaken, after all. "I'm sorry, but—what did you say?"

"I said that you are a wizard," she repeated slowly. "You're like me."

"No," he whispered, shaking his head, "that's impossible. How could I be a…_wizard?"_

"The real question is how you didn't know," said Aelia. "It took me a whole day just to accept that you didn't, that's how famous you are in my world, Potter. In fact, I can't think of any living person more well-known, except perhaps Albus Dumbledore."

"Your world?" choked Harry, doing his best to remember to breathe.

"_Our_ world," she corrected herself. "The only world that really matters to us—_the wizarding world."_

Harry's head felt like Dudley's gang had just used it for a football. Everything she was saying was hopelessly mad, and yet he had seen it with his own eyes—_magic! _Magic that she claimed _he_ could do as well. But he was certain that she had made a horrible mistake. He had spent his life running from his cousin and being mistreated by his aunt and uncle. If he could have done magic, their attempts to lock him in his cupboard would have gone _very_ differently.

"I'm sorry, but I _can't_ do magic like that," he insisted. "I can't…"

"Are you truly certain?" asked Aelia, raising her brows. "Think, Potter; whenever you were angry or greatly upset, did something you couldn't explain happen?"

Harry's eyes widened; his gaze trained on the wall behind Aelia as a deluge of memories forced their way to the surface. Now that he thought about it, every odd occurrence in the past that his relatives had blamed on him had happened when he was frightened or angry. When Dudley's gang had chased him, he had found himself out of their reach, when his teacher had humiliated him in front of the class, her wig had turned blue, and when his aunt sheared his hair off, it mysteriously grew back!

He slowly smiled at Aelia, his entire body feeling feverish.

"A-hah, I suspected as much," she said, grinning triumphantly. "You've been performing magic this entire time without realizing it."

Harry could feel his hands shaking, the bag of sweets crackling in his quivering grasp. He could do magic…he was a _wizard._ And the Dursleys…had they known? Was that why they always knew it was his fault? Why they had treated him like some sort of terrible freak to be locked away?

But there was something else that had been gnawing at the back of his mind for the past minute. "Aelia…you said the other day that my parents were also famous, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes!" she said quickly, clasping her hands together over her wand. "They were both well-respected in our world!"

"Then they were also…a wizard and witch?" asked Harry.

"They were, of course."

"But…my parents, they died in a car crash," said Harry, shaking his head. "If they were like you, able to do magic, then couldn't they have survived? Wouldn't they still be here?"

"Like _us,"_ she said, seemingly intent on hammering that point into his skull. "And that…well, they _weren't_ killed by a car or whatever tosh those horrible _Muggles_ told you."

"Muggles?"

"People who cannot do magic, and lack magical parents," said Aelia, crinkling her nose. "And I'm afraid your aunt and uncle appear to be the very worst of their kind."

Well, Harry couldn't argue with her on that point. "But wait, if my parents didn't die in a car crash, then what about my scar?"

She seemed to hesitate, her eyes darting to the ground. Harry, having just had his world turned on its head, wasn't really in the mood for her dramatic pauses. _"Well?"_

"_Look_, everything I know about this subject comes entirely from history books and the musical, alright?" said Aelia, now pacing the alleyway.

"_Musical!"_ balked Harry, now regretting that there was nowhere for him to sit down. "They made a musical about my parent's death?"

"It wasn't just about—" She shook her head, groaning. "I'm really not the best one to tell you about this, Potter. I was only a baby when it happened."

"Please," he said urgently, taking a step towards her. "I just want to know the truth."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Aelia drew a heavy breath. Her upbeat mood had become quite sombre, and her confident gait was suddenly looking far more downtrodden as she continued to pace. "It all began twenty-one years ago when a terrible Dark Wizard named _Lord Voldemort_ appeared."

"Dark Wizard?"

"Someone that uses magic to seriously hurt or kill people. Lord Voldemort was the worst of them. He and his followers did _horrible_ things to witches, wizards, and Muggles alike, and _nobody_ could stop him. Thousands were killed, tortured, or forced into serving him over the course of the war."

"And that includes my parents?" asked Harry, feeling the colour drain from his face.

"Your parents were one of the many who fought against him, yes, and one day, he decided to kill them. He liked slaughtering families, but _this_ time something went wrong. He went alone to your parents' house and…"

"Go on," said Harry, despite the feeling of dread that was slowly lurking up his back. He could already guess how this story ended.

"And he killed them, Potter," she said softly. "He then tried to kill you. I'm not certain why—perhaps he was simply that awful, but _something_ happened. Nobody is entirely certain what, it's said that your house was very nearly destroyed."

Aelia then pointed her wand at the scar hidden beneath his fringe. "We know that scar is from when he attacked you, though. He enjoyed using a powerful curse that was impossible to survive. Impossible, that is, until he used it against _you_—and that is why you're known as _The-Boy-Who-Lived._"

Harry was now holding his scar; he could feel it throbbing dully beneath his hand. It wasn't a car crash, but a _Dark Wizard_ that had killed his parents? _That's_ why he had to live with the Dursleys?

"The Dursleys!" Harry gasped, a horrible realization dawning on him. "They knew about my parents too, didn't they? They've known about it _all_ and have been lying to me for all these years!"

"I can't imagine how they wouldn't know," said Aelia. "Someone from our world must have left you with them, after all."

Harry felt his grip tighten on the bag of sweets in his hands. He must have accidentally crushed several enlarged Turkish Delights. He knew the Dursleys weren't good people, but to think they would lie about his parent's death, about his magic, for nearly ten years! At the very least, his _aunt_ must have known.

He jolted sharply when he felt a hand on his shoulder; Aelia was frowning sadly. "I'm sorry, Potter. You shouldn't have had to learn about it all so suddenly."

"It's…fine," said Harry, doing his best to remain calm. "What happened to him? Voldemort, I mean."

"He was destroyed along with your home when he tried to kill you. Some think otherwise, but there has been no sign of him for nearly ten years now, and his whole army collapsed."

Harry felt relieved to hear that his parent's killer received his comeuppance, at the very least. Even still, it was all so very much to take in. It felt like he was in a dream, a weird delusion he was having after gorging himself on too many sweets and passing out. It was like a fairy tale, something he might've imagined when he was small and locked away in his cupboard for upsetting his relatives in some minor way.

If it _was_ a dream, however, then he never wanted to wake up.

"You said there was a… 'wizarding world'?" asked Harry, his excitement starting to return. "Can you tell me how to get there?"

Aelia looked at him strangely. "Erm, well, technically it's wherever witches or wizards are living, I suppose. There _are_ villages where many of us live together, though Little Whinging is most certainly _not_ one."

Harry could have told her that much.

"There's also Hogsmeade Village and Diagon Alley," added Aelia. "Only witches and wizards may live within either."

"And how can I get to these places?" asked Harry eagerly.

I'm afraid that's a little more complicated, Potter. It will also have to wait."

"What? Why?" he said, frowning.

Aelia smirked, brushing a golden lock of hair behind her ear. "Because my five minutes are long over. It was nice speaking to you, however—farewell!"

"W-wait!" Harry nearly shouted, this time being the one to push ahead of her. "I've changed my mind, you can stay!"

Aelia turned her head away until he could only see the very corner of her left eye. "I see…but you were so very mean to me earlier, my feelings were greatly hurt, you know."

Harry was suddenly reminded of how irritating this girl could be. "I'm sorry, alright? I thought you were making fun of me. Please tell me more!"

Spinning on her heel, she lightly tapped his nose with the tip of her wand. "Very well then, I shall tell you everything! But not here, in this dreadful alleyway."

For the first time since he set foot here, Harry noticed the assortment of half-opened waste bins, crumpled wrappers, and a rather unpleasant odour that was coming off something he could probably do without seeing.

"Alright, where then?" asked Harry, more than willing to go somewhere more pleasant for their discussion.

"Tomorrow," she said. "At the bench where we first met. You remember, right?"

"By the playpark? Yeah," said Harry, trying to hide his disappointment at having to wait for more answers. He still had so many questions—it felt like his head was going to burst.

She clapped her hands excitedly again, shooting him a beaming smile. "Wonderful, I shall see you there! We can make it a luncheon!"

"Err, sure. I'll see you then, I guess," he said, waving after her as she started back towards Wisteria Walk.

He hadn't realized it until now, but it was getting late. It was probably for the best that he ate his sweets and returned home. Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't have _plenty_ of information to digest in the meantime.

Despite their size, it took him little time at all to devour his sweets, starving as he was. Disposing of his bag in the nearest waste bin, Harry returned to Privet Drive with a belly full of junk food.

"Your hair hardly looks any different!" Uncle Vernon snarled at Harry as he laboured over dinner that evening. "If it wasn't for that _thing_ on your forehead, I'd just as soon have the lot of it buzzed off."

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon."

"Did you even get it cut?" said Aunt Petunia, her dark and narrow eyes glaring at him. "You never tell them to take enough off! Next time, you'll purchase some hair wax to properly tame that unruly mop of yours."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he said, intending to do no such thing.

Dudley was sitting at the table with his parents, grinning nastily as he often did when they berated Harry.

But tonight, he didn't mind. His head was too busy racing with the most delightful of images. He saw Aunt Petunia shift into an ostrich wearing pearls after banging on his door in the early morning. He saw Uncle Vernon turn into a jumper-clad walrus after barking at him to hurry up with breakfast one too many times. Best of all, he saw Dudley transform into a large, pink pig with blond hair after trying to punch him, squealing for mummy as he fled.

He never had gotten the chance to ask Aelia how to use magic. That would be his first question tomorrow_._ That was, of course, if he wasn't dreaming all of this. That was still a possibility. A _terrible, horrible_ possibility.

"Quit spacing out, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon. "Hurry up with dinner, I had to yell at thirteen people today. That sort of work builds a healthy appetite."

"Oh yes, I almost forgot, Vernon," said Aunt Petunia. "You'll never _believe_ what I saw the Allertons doing this afternoon!"

Harry carried the Dursleys plates to the table, saving the fourth and smallest plate for himself. As his aunt gossiped about the neighbours, he thought of how easily she would be able to spy on the entire neighbourhood if she were an ostrich. Unfortunately, his fantasy had distracted him long enough for his cousin to swipe the solitary roll on his plate and stuff it into his fat mouth. He had, of course, already eaten the three that had been on his own plate.

After supper, Harry went upstairs to take a shower—during which Dudley flushed the toilet several times on purpose—and made his way back to his cupboard for bed.

That night, he was haunted by the memory of his parent's death. He had seen it many times before: that blinding green light, the only thing he could remember. Now it shined more vividly than ever before, and it was joined by a cold, terrible laughter that rang in his ears.

His scar ached dully when he awoke the next morning…

* * *

Hi! Welcome to the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Book of Lost Souls!

Some of you might recognize the name of this story. I did indeed upload it previously, but after a _lot_ of consideration, felt like my first two chapters spoiled too much of the story, and also made it take far too long to get to the "main plot". Now, you, the reader, will learn about the characters and the world as Harry himself does! I may upload the previous two chapters again at a later date, or even as a separate side story if they cannot fit within the main narrative.

I absolutely love reviews, and look forward to replying to them here, even if they're negative (yet hopefully constructive)!

New chapters will be uploaded every other Tuesday! That means the next chapter will be out on the 29th of October!


	2. Chapter II: Beneath the Great Oak

**Chapter II**

**Beneath the Great Oak**

"…It _was_ a dream," Harry groaned miserably in his bed, the cupboard door rattling angrily.

Not only the memory of the car crash, but everything before it—the witch, the magic, him being a wizard. It had all just been a ridiculous dream. Here he was, back in his cupboard, and there his aunt was, banging on his door just like any other day. It had been such a nice dream, though; he wished it didn't have to end.

"I said _get up!"_ yelled Aunt Petunia, hammering the door so hard that ceiling stuff fell onto his covers. "I've already put breakfast on, so the least you can do is tend to it!"

"Alright," said Harry, "I'm getting up."

Shaking his trousers free of spiders, Harry got dressed and went down the hall into the kitchen. He had apparently slept a little later than usual, as his uncle was already sitting at the table with a glass of orange juice in his hand. No bits, of course; he found them a little too adventurous.

"It's about time!" said Uncle Vernon. "I have an important meeting with a potential investor this morning, so hurry it up."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," said Harry.

Aunt Petunia had already placed a few sets of pancakes on the cooker, but like always it fell to him to ensure they turned out well. He made certain to pour _lots_ of sugar onto his uncle's pancakes before placing three plates onto the table.

Dudley, lured to the kitchen by the scent of food, joined his father and set upon his breakfast before his chair could even stop creaking.

"If I close this deal, I might be able to open a new office in London," boasted Uncle Vernon. "Of course, that could mean we have to move if the commute's too long."

"Oh, we could purchase one of those lovely townhouses in Central London!" Aunt Petunia practically sang, now eating with her family. "Can you imagine the expression on Martha Kendal's face if we joined the ranks of high society?"

Harry glanced over at the Dursleys while continuing to turn his own pancakes. "I dreamed I met a high society girl. She turned out to be a witch."

Uncle Vernon threw his orange juice into his own face as he went in for a drink, his big, bushy moustache now dripping onto his black suit. Dudley burst into a hysterical fit of laughter at this, while Aunt Petunia dropped her fork onto the floor and turned pale.

Rounding on Harry, Uncle Vernon's face was so purple that he looked like an enormous plumb. "THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS _WITCHES!"_

"I know that, I said it was a _dream!"_

But it was too late. Storming over to seize Harry by the back of his shirt, Uncle Vernon dragged him to the front door and shoved him out onto the lawn.

"GET TO SCHOOL!" his uncle roared, slamming the door hard enough to make the windows rattle.

"But my school bag is still in the house!" yelled Harry, but it was no use. He should never have said anything. Uncle Vernon demanded conformity even in his wildest dreams.

He was now hungry, without his bag, and forced to trudge his way to school on foot. What a perfect start to the day.

Halfway there he also realized that he yet _again_ hadn't any money for lunch, which just made his stomach hurt worse. It made him wish more than ever that his dream could have been real, but he knew that was impossible—he conveniently had no evidence at all that the previous day had happened. Nothing to indicate that he had ever met the strange girl in the sweetshop or witnessed her performing magic. Nothing to suggest that he was anything more than Harry Potter, the boy who lived in the cupboard under the stairs.

Yet this was the first dream that he could ever remember so vividly. He could recall every detail so clearly that he questioned what exactly he _had_ done the previous day, if not that? Could it have been real, or had he simply gone completely mental? He had been seeing so many bizarre things lately, after all.

Maybe the Dursleys had been right all along; there _was_ something wrong with him.

At school, he found himself empty handed when Mrs. Graham called for them to turn in the previous day's homework.

"Thought you just wouldn't do it, did you?" chided Mrs. Graham, her slightly wrinkled ruby red lips twisted into a frown.

"No, I _did_ do my homework, I just forgot and left my bag at home," said Harry, omitting the part where he had been thrown out by his uncle.

He had long since learned it was pointless to talk about his life with the Dursleys. Teachers _had_ taken notice of how his cousin treated him at school before, expressing horror at the "flagrant bullying" that Dudley's parents took no action to prevent. Some had even promised to call social services in the most extreme of cases, but nothing had ever come of it in the end and life at Little Whinging continued as normal.

Everyone probably had more important things on their mind, to be fair.

"Mr. Potter, I've heard far more inventive excuses for forgetting one's homework than _that_," said Mrs. Graham, folding her hands atop her plump belly as she leaned back in her chair. Harry was certain that she was about to give him detention, but to his surprise she merely gestured for him to take his seat.

When someone had started stealing school supplies late last year, Mrs. Graham had immediately suspected Harry due to his baggy clothes supposedly offering plenty of room to hide the missing items. Calling him to the front of the class, she forced him to lift his shirt and turn out all his pockets, much to the bemusement of the other students.

He felt embarrassed by their snickering and was angry at Mrs. Graham for assuming he was the thief without any proof. He desperately wished he could make her know how it felt to be humiliated in front of the class—and then he heard the other students gasp.

Mrs. Graham's wig had turned a bright shade of blue. She had howled quite loudly upon realizing what had happened, the wig toppling from her head to expose the thinning, grey hair beneath it. Ever since that day, she had been rather wary of him.

"Right," said Harry, sitting alone and foodless in the cafeteria come lunch, "that's what convinced me I was a wizard in the dream."

That, and the other incidents like it. But was that proof of magic being real? There were surely other possible explanations. Maybe he had just latched onto magic as an easy way to dismiss it all. If only he had saved one of the enlarged sweet packets, then he would've known for certain.

The bell eventually signalled the end of the school day, much to Harry's relief. Having been forced to skip both breakfast _and_ lunch, it felt like his stomach was now going to gnaw through his backbone. For once, he was looking forward to supper with the Dursleys just so he could have something to eat.

"Going somewhere, Harry?" said Piers Polkiss, standing with Dennis, Gordon, and Malcolm to block off both the hall and the front doors of the school.

He had been so focused on his growing hunger that he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings. Still, this was a little strange. His cousin's entire gang was just standing there waiting for him, but without their leader.

"Where's Dudley?" asked Harry. "Dog's aren't allowed to be off their leashes in Surrey."

Piers sneered, and the sound of heavy footfalls to his immediate left answered Harry's question for him when his cousin barrelled into him with all his considerable weight. The wind was instantly knocked from him, his face slamming into the nearby row of lockers. He heard something that distinctly sounded like glass shattering.

Groaning, Harry stumbled to his feet as the gleeful laughter of Dudley's gang filled the hall. When he had at last regained enough of his senses to open his eyes, he realized that the right lens of his glasses had been completely shattered.

"Good luck getting mum and dad to pay for that," said Dudley, too stupid to know what NHS glasses were. Grinning proudly, he and his gang triumphantly marched off.

Harry sighed, dreading the inevitable confrontation with his relatives. He would, of course, be held entirely responsible for the broken lens. Blaming Dudley would only infuriate them more, for in their eyes there could be no finer boy.

Half of his world now looked as if someone had pulled a thin stretch of plastic across it, he was starving, and his entire body ached from being squashed between the lockers and two hundred pounds of Dudley. This made what was normally the part of the day he most looked forward to a thoroughly miserable experience.

He was now torn between simply wanting the day to be over and dreading his return to Privet Drive. Even though they hadn't paid for his glasses, the Dursleys would still act as if he had burdened them with some great expense through his "ungrateful negligence".

Lurching his way down Magnolia Road, Harry saw the playpark and the bench where he had first met the posh blonde witch, Aelia Yaxley. That had been the one problem with his dream explanation—he had met her a couple of days _before_ there had been any talk of magic or wizards. Did he have two separate dreams, or had the past two days in fact been one long night in his cupboard?

Were the strange eyes he had been seeing up till then a part of it, too?

Sitting down on the bench, he laid his head back and stared at the clear and sunny afternoon sky. He could hear small children playing not far behind him; it was a beautiful day out, and so the playpark was rather busy. The happy ambiance helped make the pain working its way up the right side of his face a little more bearable.

"_Wizard,"_ he snorted derisively. "I can't even get through school without Dudley using me for rugby practice."

It had taken him a moment to remember, but he had agreed to meet the witch at this very bench in his dream—or maybe _delusion_ would be a better word at this point. It really did feel like he was going mad…and he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or not. Was a mad world where he was a famous wizard so much worse than a sane life with the Dursleys?

He didn't think so.

Grinning, he closed his eyes and imagined himself garbed in a blue wizard robe and hat with little yellow stars adorning it. In his hand was his own wand, which he was wildly waving about the living room of number four, Privet Drive, the furniture answering his commands by lifting off the ground and spinning rapidly around him. His aunt, uncle, and cousin all screamed as they ducked and weaved to avoid tables, chairs, and the tele as they went flying past their heads.

"You can't lock _me_ in a cupboard," he declared triumphantly to the cowering Dursleys. "I'm the great Harry Potter, slayer of Dark Wizards!"

A quiet cough pierced through the haze of his fantasy, and he shot upright in his seat—he had said that aloud without thinking. Standing in front of him was Aelia Yaxley. She was wearing a white sundress and matching floppy hat, while in her hand was a rather large picnic basket.

"Aelia?" gasped Harry, feeling his heart leap so high into his throat that it could've boxed his uvula. Blinking hard to make certain he wasn't seeing some sort of hunger-induced mirage, he slowly stumbled to his feet. "You…you're _real_, aren't you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Aelia quirked a brow, concern flashing across her face. "Potter, whatever happened to you? It looks as if someone used your head for a bludger!"

"A what?" Harry reflexively reached up to touch his face, and immediately regretted doing so. "Ow…right. It's nothing."

"Is it?" asked Aelia, a sceptical frown tugging at the corners of her lips. "You just asked if I was real."

Harry groaned.

Just how bad _did_ he look after Dudley's ambush back at school? He had purposefully avoided checking his reflection since then, as he felt poorly enough as it was. His cousin had admittedly gotten a bit carried away this time; he was usually satisfied with a punch to the stomach or nose. Maybe if they saw how hurt he was, the Dursleys would finally discipline their son.

Now _that_ was a mad fantasy.

"Sorry," he said, "it's just my cousin. I'll be fine."

"Why that filthy little—I ought to turn him into a pygmy puff!" growled Aelia, her normally pale face flushing red.

Harry quickly raised his hands to try and calm her. "Honestly, I'm alright! I'd much rather just eat something; I'm starving."

Following his gaze to her basket, Aelia pursed her lips tightly for a rather long moment before breathing a defeated sigh. "Very well, Potter. Since you don't appear to be eating very well, I packed quite a bit."

"Err, thanks," said Harry. While her statement was rather _rude_, it wasn't exactly wrong. Still, the pain from his injuries and his hunger felt very small now next to the joy swelling inside of him. Aelia was real, and that meant _magic_ was real! He was a wizard!

"Shall we?" She gestured for him to follow.

Children were shooting down the slide, playing on the swing sets, and navigating the climbing frames as they made their way through the playpark. A trio of toddlers had constructed a rather nice castle in the sand pit. Harry recalled once building one in that very spot, which Dudley gleefully smashed by sitting on it.

They were easily the oldest there who weren't parents, making Harry feel just a little silly. Fortunately, Aelia lead him away from the park proper to an old oak in the distance. Beneath the shade of its sprawling branches, she laid out a blue tablecloth for them to sit on. They were on a hill, so they had a nice view of the playing children below.

"We should have privacy here," said Aelia.

"Yeah," agreed Harry. Perhaps noticing that he was still staring at the basket, she quickly swept her hand over it. From within sprang a dozen cleanly sliced boiled egg sandwiches, twice as many sausage rolls, and a smoked mackerel pate. A pitcher of orange liquid and a pair of glasses were the last out.

"We've Eton Mess for dessert as well, if you can hold it," she said.

"Did _you_ make all of this?" Harry asked in astonishment.

"Me? No, I haven't the slightest idea how to cook. Wurbles, my house-elf, made this. Why? Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all! It looks delicious!" said Harry, grabbing a sandwich up and going in for a bite. A sharp dagger of pain immediately pierced the right side of his face, causing him to groan around his mouthful of boiled egg.

Aelia frowned again, and immediately reached into her handbag to retrieve her wand. "That filthy little brute really did hurt you, didn't he? Here, hold still—_Episkey!_"

He watched Aelia's wand slash diagonally through the air, the sharp ache in his face immediately being consumed by a burning sensation. This, in turn, was soon replaced by an icy chill. When he reflexively reached up to touch his face, the pain had completely vanished.

"Feeling better now?" she asked.

"Yeah," he whispered, in awe at having had magic cast directly on him. It was like an outside force had commanded his face to heal, and it did! Was there anything magic _couldn't_ do?

Without the pain to hold him back, Harry quickly stuffed his sandwich into his mouth. It was soon to be followed by another while Aelia looked on in mild shock.

"My, slaying Dark Wizards must work up quite an appetite," she said.

"Sorry!" He laughed, trying to drown out the sound of his internal screaming. "I haven't eaten all day."

"It's quite alright," she said, smiling. Laying her hat on the ground, she took a sandwich in hand and bit a small piece from the end.

After choking down a third sandwich and a couple of sausage rolls, Harry's stomach finally calmed enough for him to realize that Aelia had said something interesting a while back. "What's a 'house-elf'?"

"Oh, they're goblin-size beings that serve old wizarding families like mine."

"Goblins?" said Harry, mouth agape. "Goblins are _real?"_

"Unfortunately, yes."

"What are they like?"

"They're beastly, rude little creatures…but they're admittedly clever. They run Gringotts, our world's bank."

Now that he was certain he wasn't hallucinating; Harry began to recall the names of the places she had mentioned the previous day—Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and now Gringotts. He could feel his excitement building to the point where it threatened to boil over. More than anything he wanted to see these places for himself, to meet the rude goblins and visit their bank.

"Aelia," Harry began, having just downed a significant portion of the pate, "yesterday you said that it was 'complicated', getting to the wizarding world?"

"Oh, well, yes—mainly because you don't really have anywhere to live. Children still need guardians, after all, no matter the world."

He felt his good mood falter. "You mean I _still_ have to live with the Dursleys until I'm grown?"

"I never said that, Potter. I'm certain you'll be spending most of your time at Hogwarts, like most young witches and wizards."

"Really?" asked Harry, relaxing only slightly. "Is Hogwarts another village, like Hogsmeade?"

"Close—quite literally. Hogwarts is a school of witchcraft and wizardry near Hogsmeade. So long as your eleventh birthday is before the first of September, you'll receive an acceptance letter from them before the end of July."

Harry suddenly felt compelled to grab a handful of grass to anchor himself to the ground, as he thought he might float away. "A school? Are you saying I'm…going to be invited to a school that teaches magic?"

A school that was far away from the Dursleys! He was almost tempted to think he was still dreaming.

"Wait, before the end of July? My birthday is at the _very end_ of July!"

"Is it? Well then, you'll likely receive your letter _before_ your birthday, to give you time to send your owl in."

"_Owl?"_ said Harry, feeling lost again. "Why would I send them an owl?"

"Oh, that's right, Father said Muggles make other people run their post for them. We use owls to deliver ours," said Aelia, as if this were completely normal. "You know, you really ought to have known all of this already; it's a terrible crime, what those Muggles have done."

"It's a crime?" asked Harry, having just downed another sausage roll. "They can go to prison for hiding everything from me?"

Aelia giggled behind her hand. "I was speaking _metaphorically_, Potter—even though I would _love_ for them to visit Azkaban."

"Azkaban? That's like…wizard prison?"

"Yes, exactly so. Nobody has ever escaped once they were locked away," said Aelia, almost sounding boastful. "My father is Head of the Magical Law Department and was Head Auror before that. He's imprisoned many Dark Wizards there."

"There's a Magical Law Department?"

"Oh yes!" Aelia pointed her nose to the sky, her lips stretched into a self-satisfied grin. "It's the most important department in the Ministry of Magic."

Harry blinked several times, trying to take in everything he had just heard. There was an entire Ministry of Magic! Given the ocean of smugness he was now drowning in, he assumed it must do something really important.

"What does a Ministry of Magic do, exactly?" asked Harry.

"Quite a lot," said Aelia, folding her hands in her lap. "Their most important job, of course, is upholding the International Statute of Secrecy."

"And what's _that?"_

She jerked her chin towards the playpark below. "The law that keeps our kind hidden from Muggle eyes. I should have mentioned this sooner, but we're not supposed to use magic in front of them if we can help it. Most shouldn't even know we exist."

Harry frowned, his earlier fantasy now seeming unlikely to ever happen. "But why _can't_ we use magic in front of them?"

Aelia's pompous demeanour had rather suddenly faded, replaced with a sobriety that seemed very unlike the girl he had been speaking to up till now. It made him feel like he had somehow asked the wrong question.

"Sorry," he said reflexively.

"No, it's fine," said Aelia, sighing. "It's…because they hate us, Potter. They hate and fear magic, and everyone that uses it, and so we must hide from them."

Harry immediately thought of the Dursleys and how they would always react towards anything even remotely out of the ordinary. He had been thrown out of the house without his bag just for saying the word "witch".

And he was certain they knew the truth now.

"But not all of them can hate us, right?" Harry reasoned. "Not everyone can be as bad as the Dursleys."

"Enough do," said Aelia. "My father once told me: 'If three out of ten people believed you would devour their children, how eager would you be to reveal yourself in a crowd?'"

His heart sank. He hadn't considered that being a wizard would mean that he would have to hide, or that people (outside his relatives) would hate him. But then, he was never well-liked to begin with; Dudley had made certain of that. Still, one thing continued to not quite add up for him.

"If we have magic, why do we have to be so afraid of them not liking us?"

Aelia glanced out over the distant residential area of Magnolia Road. "How many people would you say live in Little Whinging?"

"I don't know—a thousand?" guessed Harry, having never really considered it before.

"A thousand," she repeated, "and only _one_ of them was a wizard. Magic can only even the odds so much, Potter. That's why many of us live close together in villages, or else far away from anyone."

"Oh. Does your family live in one of those villages?" he asked.

Aelia shook her head. "No, our manor is deep within Sandlings Forest, in Suffolk."

"In a forest? Don't Muggles ever happen on it when camping?"

"Oh yes," said Aelia, wiping her mouth with a serviette, "they're delicious."

"_W-what?"_ Harry felt the colour drain from his face. She quickly snorted; her sombre veneer broken by laughter. It was almost inelegant, the way she cackled and held onto the tree for support.

"I'm only teasing, Potter!" she said, her shoulders quivering as she struggled to regain her composure. "'You're really quite easy, you know that?"

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "You have a weird sense of humour."

"Do I?" asked Aelia, smiling. "Perhaps I do. Really, though, our home is protected by a charm that hides it from anyone my father hasn't shared its location with."

"You can make an entire manor invisible?" asked Harry, mouth agape.

"More than invisible, Potter. Untouchable. Soundproof. It's as if it doesn't exist," she explained.

His head began to spin with the seemingly endless potential of magic. Just from the little he had learned, he already understood that it could make objects move, change their size, transform people into animals, heal injuries, and even hide away entire buildings!

Even after the Eton Mess had been reduced to flecks of meringue, Harry was still full of questions. Aelia never seemed to grow tired of answering them, thankfully, though she did eventually start to ask some of her own.

"I heard that Muggles have 'car parks'. Why do cars need their own parks? What sorts of games do they play there?"

"Uh…"

Some of them were better than others.

So engrossed was Harry in their conversation that he failed to notice the hours ticking by, even as the children departed from the play park one by one.

"It's nearly past five, and my parents will be returning home shortly—they wouldn't like me being out too late," said Aelia.

"Yeah, I need to get home too," said Harry. "Aunt Petunia's will want me to help with dinner."

While the Dursleys hardly missed his company when he was away, he had always been made to return home in time to help with supper. Uncle Vernon would be _livid_ if it wasn't waiting for him on the table.

"I had fun, Potter, and I'm glad you enjoyed Wurbles' cooking."

"It was _really_ good," said Harry, smiling. "Thank you for letting me ask so many questions. I'll see you again, right?"

"Certainly," she said, returning his smile. "We can meet by this tree tomorrow, if you like."

"Yeah!" he said quickly, suddenly remembering the one question he had forgotten to ask. "Do you think you could show me how to do some magic then?"

Aelia paused.

"It's…not that simple, Potter," she said. "It takes a great deal of time to learn how to properly cast a spell."

Harry's shoulders fell, and he must have looked thoroughly crestfallen if her frantically concerned expression was anything to go by.

"B-but I can begin teaching you the basics, I suppose!" she continued desperately. "And lend you some of my old set books!"

Harry felt his heart leap with excitement yet again at her promise. Set books full of magic…he had to stop himself from doing a little dance right on the spot. "Thanks, Aelia!"

"You're most welcome!" she said, looking greatly relieved. Climbing to her feet, she returned her hat to its place atop her head. "Before I go, however, would you like to see one last bit of magic?"

"Of course!"

Grinning, Aelia pointed her wand directly at his broken glasses and said, _"Reparo."_

The sound that immediately filled his ears was identical to the one he heard when his glasses had shattered earlier – but in reverse! He could now see out of his intact right lens. In fact, even the tiny surface marks on the left lens had vanished!

"That's...brilliant," said Harry breathlessly.

"That's _magic!"_ said Aelia, smirking. "I'll see you tomorrow, Potter."

Waving slowly to his new friend, Harry turned and started down the hill. As he neared the base, a sharp snap caused him to reflexively look over his shoulder in the direction of the old oak tree again. To his surprise, Aelia, the tablecloth, and the entire spread of plates were gone without a trace.

Shaking his head as another smile slowly crept its way across his face, he started back towards home. His mind was _swimming_ with the thought of all the spells he would be able to read about tomorrow, even if he couldn't perform them yet.

He was so excited, in fact, that he had forgotten all about his cousin as he stepped through the door of number four, Privet Drive. The feeling was clearly not mutual, however, as Dudley was sitting expectantly in the doubtlessly pained hallway chair.

"Mummy, mummy!" called Dudley excitedly when he saw Harry. "Come look at Harry's…glasses…?"

"What about my glasses, Diddums?" asked Harry, adjusting his distinctly unbroken glasses on his nose. In fact, not only was the lens no longer shattered, but the Sellotape that normally held them together was now gone as well. It was as if they were brand new.

"What? But…how…?" Dudley stammered foolishly.

Harry simply smiled at his stunned and very confused cousin, striding past him and into the kitchen to help Aunt Petunia prepare supper. He didn't even mind cooking tonight.

Of course, neither his aunt nor uncle noticed the improved state of his glasses. He had briefly entertained the thought of wrapping new Sellotape around the bridge just to keep up appearances, but he knew there was no point in it. They were only ever observant of opportunities to punish him or assign chores.

"When I find out who has been spreading such…such vile _slander_," shouted Uncle Vernon, slamming his meaty fist down on the table with enough force to nearly topple his drink, "well, they'll find out what 'hostile' and 'dehumanizing' _really_ looks like! Overpaid, ungrateful—"

"Now, now, Vernon, you'll upset Duddy," said Aunt Petunia, glancing in the direction of her disinterested son, who was too busy stuffing his face with bread and glaring at Harry to take notice of the conversation.

His uncle had been ranting ever since he set foot in the house. The deal he had been so enthusiastic about closing just this morning had completely fallen through when the investor caught wind of Vernon's unofficial policy of verbally assaulting his employees every morning. This had strangely given said investor second thoughts about signing any long-term agreements with Grunnings.

Unlike the previous day, Harry was now quite certain that he was neither dreaming _nor_ delusional, and this time he had physical proof of it in the form of his glasses. Even if he could rationalize Dudley breaking the right lens as part of the dream, the repaired bridge—which had been broken for nearly a year—wasn't so easily dismissed.

The fact that Dudley kept eying him suspiciously was an added piece of evidence.

That night, he dreamt of a flying motorbike. In it, he could see the houses passing beneath him as he soared through the night's sky. He was with someone, but he couldn't make out the rider's face. It all seemed vaguely familiar, like he'd experienced the same dream before.

He had always wanted to fly.

* * *

There it is, chapter II!

Sadly, there were no reviews for me to reply to! Oh well!

See you in two weeks! That's November 12th!


	3. Chapter III: The Darker Side of Magic

**Chapter III**

**The Darker Side of Magic**

**T**he morning after Harry's luncheon with Aelia saw him awaken with a smile on his face, and seemingly of his own accord. He knew it must have still been early because his aunt hadn't started banging on his door. Rising slowly, he extended a cautious hand to the shelf where his glasses sat. Running his fingers over the intact bridge, his smile broadened into an elated grin.

"Not a dream," he whispered.

Laying back down, he stared up at the web-strewn ceiling as he basked in the knowledge that he was still a wizard. One that would soon be learning real magic! While he knew it would probably be some time before he could cast proper spells like Aelia could, this failed to diminish his excitement.

Magic seemed capable of doing almost anything—making objects grow, causing buildings to disappear, repairing broken glasses. Maybe it could even let a motorbike fly!

Shaking his head, Harry rolled out of bed and got dressed. Leaving his cupboard, he quickly entered the empty kitchen and turned on the cooker. To say that his relatives were shocked when they entered the kitchen to see that breakfast was nearly done was an understatement. He himself was rather surprised by his own initiative, in truth.

"Finally showing some gratitude, boy?" asked his uncle.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he lied, because it wasn't gratitude that had brought him to the kitchen so early this morning. No, it was something he hadn't experienced in years—excitement for the new day. Magic was real, and he was a _wizard._ He would be leaving Privet Drive in just a few months to be educated in witchcraft and wizardry at a school called Hogwarts.

How could he not be in a good mood?

Unfortunately, Dudley was not nearly so chipper this morning. That suspicious glare from last night's supper had been carried over to the new day, his watery eyes remaining trained on Harry even as he shovelled baked beans into his mouth.

As they piled into the car for the ride to school, he would continue to endure his cousin's glaring. He was certain that Dudley would have his entire gang doing it by the end of the day.

Once they were at school, Harry, wanting to distract himself, spent much of his time in class searching for any glimmer of the yellow eyes he had caught watching him all last week. He still had no clue what they were, or where they had gone.

Maybe he would try asking his new friend about them.

By the time school was nearing its end, Harry was ready for Dudley to make another attempt on his undamaged glasses, or at least try and rough him up a little.

To his great surprise, however, Dudley and his gang departed school without a disparaging word. They had been talking about one of Piers' new video games, so perhaps that distraction had spared him a bit of pain.

He wasn't about to complain.

The sky over Little Whinging was murky, in contrast to the clear and sunny afternoon he had spent beneath the tree yesterday. He could spot dark clouds on the horizon, and it was likely for this reason that the playpark on Magnolia Road was deserted.

Offering a passing glance to the park bench he had met Aelia at twice before, he crossed through the playpark on his way to the tree. The sound of the gravel crunching beneath his feet was sharp in his ear as he weaved between the slide and the climbing frames, the distant beat of thunder being its only competition.

The crackling of the tiny rocks grew in volume as he neared the park's edge, until they drowned out even the subtle rumbling of the promised storm. Pivoting quickly, he saw Dudley behind him, with Dennis, Gordon, and Malcolm flanking him.

"What are _you_ doing here?" asked Dudley, sneering. "Going to sit by yourself on the teeter-totter and have a cry cause you're all alone?"

Harry frowned, fighting his instinct to run as fast as he could away from them. Aelia was supposed to meet him under the tree, just up the hill. While he had little doubt that Dudley himself would struggle to surmount it, his friends weren't nearly so out of shape.

"Just having a walk," said Harry. "And what about you? Looking to give some six-year-olds a doing?"

"If they've got it coming," said Dudley, cracking his knuckles, "like you do. How'd your glasses get fixed, anyhow?"

"Magic," answered Harry, slowly backing away from the group. Even if he was frightened, he couldn't help but grin a little at his response.

"We'll see how much cheek you have left when I bust your face in," Dudley threatened.

Harry then felt a presence behind him just as he prepared to run, a pair of hands reaching down to his ill-fitting trousers and giving them a sharp tug. Down around his ankles they fell, causing him to flail his arms in a futile effort to keep his balance as he fell back onto the grass just outside the playpark.

Piers Polkiss stood over him, his rat-like face parted with a grin that was as broad as it was mean. The gang erupted with laughter while Harry lay there, white pants exposed to the world. He groaned in humiliation, the wind biting at his bare legs. Were they going to steal his trousers and force him to walk home in his undies?

Dudley had his head slung back, guffawing maw agape while he pointed down at Harry. It was open so wide that he sorely wished a bug would fly into it. Instead, a liquid glob of what resembled milk mixed with chocolate chips landed firmly in his mouth like a football striking the net.

His cousin's jaw reflexively slammed shut, his watery eyes bulging in shock. A second later and he had doubled over onto the ground, retching up a mixture of the chunky liquid and today's lunch.

"Dudley!" gasped Piers, only for a second glob to strike him right in the eye, causing him to yelp loudly while spinning towards the rest of the gang in a confused panic.

One after another the globs rained down upon the five bullies, who had all started scrambling about the playpark for any cover they could find. Harry, staring up at the sky, could now see the small flock of doves that were responsible for the timely barrage. Quickly tugging up his trousers, he reclaimed his feet just as the birds descended upon his tormentors.

Watching in a gleeful awe while the birds pecked and scratched at the fleeing gang, he was certain that he had _never_ seen Dudley run so fast. The doves continued to pursue the howling boys all the way down the street, until they had completely vanished from sight.

A rustling of grass behind him caused Harry to turn and see Aelia, who was today wearing a sleeveless blue colour-block dress. A trio of books were tucked beneath her right arm.

She frowned in concern, her eyes darting in the direction where the gang had fled. "Are you alright, Potter?"

"Yeah—did _you_ do that? With the birds?" he asked, noting the wand in her left hand.

"Yes. It's a spell—one of my most advanced, in fact," she explained, a sharp breath of air sweeping past her lips. "Conjuration is supposedly my specialty, you see…but even so, snakes and birds are the only living creatures I can manage right now."

"I still think it's brilliant," said Harry, smiling. "And it did the job on Dudley and his gang."

Aelia brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, returning his smile. "Well, thank you. It's fortunate that we're still too young for the ministry to trace."

"Trace?" asked Harry, starting up the hill alongside her. "The ministry traces us?"

"The ministry traces the homes of underage witches and wizards living near Muggles," she clarified, reaching the top of the hill. The shadow of the great oak now loomed over them. "It's to make certain you're not endangering the statute by using magic outside school."

Frowning, he leaned against the tree beside her. The wind was starting to pick up, plucking leaves from the branches overhead and sending them spiralling to the Earth. "You mean kids living in the wizarding world can use magic whenever they want?"

"Technically no, but it's up to our parents, really, and most allow it. It's _our_ world, after all," said Aelia, her blonde tresses whipping about violently. She threw a glance to the horizon, and Harry could now see the distant clouds flashing with a mixture of white and blue. "Perhaps we should go somewhere indoors before the storm catches us?"

"Yeah," he agreed. The approaching thunder was growing steadier by the minute; it wouldn't be long before it was overhead. "Where would you like to go?"

Aelia shrugged, wincing when a strand of hair smacked her in the eye. "Somewhere quiet where we can read."

"Alright," he said, thinking for a moment. There really weren't that many options. "There's a few places on Wisteria Walk; that's where the sweet shop was."

He pushed off the oak and started back towards the playpark. It felt like a waste of effort to have climbed the steep hill just to now be leaving, but there was nothing for it; they couldn't exactly read while it stormed all around them.

The journey from Magnolia Road to Wisteria Walk only took about ten minutes, but Harry could already feel cold sprinkles of rain starting to dot his face as they made their way down the street. Most of the businesses were huddled around the corner shop near the end of the road, with the remainder being lined with old houses.

"I'm surprised you didn't know the way here," said Harry, briefly removing his glasses to clear away the water droplets with his shirt. "You were at the sweet shop just the other day."

"Oh, Wurbles saw you enter it and apparated me into the alleyway," she explained, glancing curiously at the shoddy houses to their left.

Harry's gait slowed. "…What does Wurbles look like?"

"Err, well, he's a house-elf," said Aelia, sounding mildly perplexed by his question. "Short, loose skin, large and yellow eyes, floppy ears—"

"Yellow eyes!" said Harry, spinning on his heel to face the clearly startled girl. "It was Wurbles I was seeing all last week!"

Aelia's mouth fell open, her face growing paler as she stopped. "You _saw_ him? I told him specifically _not_ to be seen! Ooh, Wurbles…I'm sorry, Potter—I hope he didn't frighten you?"

"I only ever saw his eyes," he clarified, frowning. "But _why_ were you having him follow me?"

Her hollow cheeks flushed with colour, and she looked away. "You're incredibly famous, Potter, even though we're close in age. I didn't really know how to best approach you. I was…nervous and wanted to make a good first impression—which I _still_ failed at."

Famous.

It was still a word Harry struggled to associate with himself. It really did seem like a joke, even if he had seen enough to convince him she was being at least partially honest. The idea that somebody could be nervous about meeting _him_—with his baggy clothes and broken glasses—was even more foreign. Between the two of them, Aelia fit the part of a celebrity far more than he ever could.

"You didn't need to be nervous; I'm really not the great wizard you think I am," said Harry, shaking his head as the rain began to obscure his lenses again. "I didn't even know I _was_ a wizard until you told me."

"That's not your fault," said Aelia firmly, her dark blue eyes capturing his with a fierce stare. "Those Muggles you live with have kept everything hidden away from you! They're to blame! I know you'll be every bit the amazing wizard people say you are, once we're at Hogwarts!"

"Thanks…" he said, tearing himself away from her intense gaze. "I hope you're right."

Harry continued walking down the street, doing his best to keep the Dursleys from his thoughts. It wasn't working. His Aunt Petunia's face now flashed tauntingly within the darkness of his mind, her voice screeching "don't ask questions!" whenever he would dare to wonder anything about his parents.

Well, now he knew the reason he wasn't allowed to ask.

Given that they were his only remaining family, he really didn't want to hate them, even though they felt no such hesitation towards him. It was incredibly difficult; he could feel his bitterness swelling every time he remembered being locked in his cupboard for something he couldn't control, something they had intentionally kept from him. And worse, even though he now knew they had been lying to him for his entire life, he was forced to just remain silent and pretend like nothing was different if he was to have any hope of escaping one day.

"Potter," Aelia's voice cut through his brooding, "who is that creepy old trout leering at us from over there?"

Harry glanced in the direction she had indicated. A familiar old woman with grizzled grey hair was staring back at them from her yard. She wore a white dressing gown, tartan carpet slippers, and a hairnet. Several large cats wandered about her feet, mewing. "Oh, that's Mrs. Figg. She's a little batty, don't worry about her."

Aelia shot her a nasty look before they continued their way to the corner shop. Not far from it was the candy shop where they had met only a couple of days before, and just to its right was a book shop he had never been in.

"Oh, that seems like the obvious choice for reading!" said Aelia with a hint of interest. "I wonder if I might find something here to help me with Muggle Studies?"

Harry stared into the window of the book shop, and while it wasn't terribly large, the displays showed a good variety of popular romance and fantasy novels. A rather bored-looking young woman stood behind a counter inside, but it was otherwise vacant.

"…There's a class that studies Muggles?" he asked.

"Yes—though we don't really have to worry about it for a couple of years," said Aelia.

A bell jingled above the door as they entered, the woman behind the counter looking up from the book she was reading to offer them a wave. "Welcome, dears. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"We're just getting out of the rain," said Harry, watching Aelia sweep past him to make for a round table encircled by four chairs.

He was thankful to be someplace where they could have a bit of privacy to talk and study. The shop's only employee had her nose deep in what looked to be some sort of steamy romance novel judging by its cover—a man and woman locked in a passionate kiss.

The tapping of rain on the windows heralded the arrival of the storm, the steady beating of the sky overhead akin to stampeding hooves. How long it was to last, he didn't know—several of Dudley's favourite shows had been on the previous night, and his cousin had little patience for the weather channel.

Sitting beside Aelia at the round table, he watched with barely restrained glee as she placed the three set books she had brought down in front of him.

"Magical Theory, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, and A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration," said Aelia, gesturing to each book in turn. "We'll be starting with the first one, since it will teach you the fundamentals of magic and how it works."

"Magical _Theory?"_ said Harry, sinking down into his seat.

"I _told_ you we wouldn't be practicing any magic today, Potter. We wouldn't be in a Muggle book shop if we were," said Aelia, frowning.

She seemed less tolerant of his disappointment today.

"I'm sorry," said Harry quickly. "I just really want to do magic..."

Aelia's expression softened as she opened the first of the three books. "I know that _Magical Theory_ doesn't sound very exciting, but understanding it is necessary before you can even _try_ casting a spell."

"How long do you think it'll take?"

"It's different for everyone, really," said Aelia. "Still, if you study and practice until your letter arrives, you'll surely be able to do _something!"_

Harry stared down at the open book, which Aelia had taken the liberty of turning to the first chapter. Quickly skimming through the introduction, he slowed the pace of his reading when he reached the section called "The Four Pillars".

"Accurate visualization, unwavering concentration, precise wand movement, and clear incantation; these are the four pillars of spellcasting," Harry read aloud. "Should any of these prove inadequate, then your spell will inevitably fail…or worse, rebound on you."

He looked up at Aelia. "What does it mean by 'rebound'? Is it saying I can get hurt by my own spells?"

"Yes," she said simply. "If you cast them poorly...or rather, not quite well enough."

Harry refocused on the book, swallowing the lump that had grown in his throat. _Magical Theory_ was written by Adalbert Waffling, and seemed to mostly be concerned with the Fundamental Laws of Magic. More than laws, however, they almost seemed to be _warnings_ against the misuse of magic. It made it all seem just a bit less fanciful than Harry had first imagined.

"'Tamper with the deepest mysteries—the source of life, the essence of self—only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind'," read Harry, his face starting to pale. "Magic sounds like it can be really scary…"

"It can be," said Aelia. "There's magic out there that even I would never touch, and I _like_ the so-called 'Dark Arts'."

Harry looked up from his book again. "Dark Arts? You used 'Dark' like that before—for 'Dark Wizards', right?"

"That's right—though it's really more of a 'guilt by association' sort of name," said Aelia. "The 'Dark Arts' are often used by Dark Wizards and witches to hurt others, but not everyone who uses them is evil."

He felt his chest tighten, a distinct feeling of uneasiness washing over him. "Isn't…hurting others wrong, though? With or without magic?"

"Well, that depends on who you're hurting, yes?" said Aelia a little too easily. "Ministry Aurors use them to stop criminals, for example. They're just offensive charms, mostly."

Harry reached up to feel his scar, the memory of that green light and the cold, high-pitched laughter that now accompanied it replaying in his mind. Whether it was evil or not, he wasn't sure if he could ever feel comfortable using _that_ kind of magic.

By the end of their first hour in the book shop, Harry had made it several chapters into _Magical Theory_. Although he now understood the Four Pillars and the Fundamental Laws, he still didn't really feel any closer to being able to call himself a proper wizard. The way Aelia made it sound, it could easily be months before he would be able to cast a spell.

Aelia had busied herself browsing for Muggle literature that could help with her own studies, which seemed to regard common modern conveniences such as electricity as intriguing curiosities. It almost seemed as if the Muggle World he had grown up in was almost as mysterious to her—their—kind as the wizarding world was to him.

"A-hah! Precisely what I was hoping to find!" exclaimed Aelia, retrieving a hardback novel from one of the shelves. She held it up proudly for him to see, the black cover reading: _"The Dark History of Witchcraft",_ by Gabriella Muntz.

"Why would you want to read _that?"_ asked Harry, staring wearily at the novel. "It looks like she doesn't have a very nice opinion on magic."

"Well, of course not," she said, making her way back to the round table, "it _was_ written by a Muggle, after all. I simply wish to hear how they view us in their own words. All I've ever had to go on is what my father told me, and what's been written from our perspective."

Harry was surprised to see Aelia produce a pair of glasses from her handbag and set them on her nose. They were much smaller than his own, with thin rims framing their semi-oval lenses. "I didn't know you wore glasses; can't magic fix bad eyesight?"

Cracking the book open, she settled back into her seat and crossed one leg over the other. "I only need them for reading. And yes, magic _can_, but it's extremely difficult and can easily go _terribly_ wrong. Human Transfiguration is already incredibly hard to master and changing the shape of your _eye,_ of all things, is…well…you could blind yourself, to put it mildly."

"I guess my glasses won't be going anywhere, then," he said, adjusting them. "Good thing you fixed them."

"They suit you," said Aelia, grinning. "From the pictures I've seen, your father had glasses very similar to them."

Aelia returned to her book, seeming to be quite engrossed in its rather morbid subject matter. From what he could glean, this included such wonderful topics as child sacrifice and demon summoning.

Snorting when she came upon one passage, she turned the book to show him a satanic image of a horned demon. "Apparently, I'm to worship this goat creature! It seems like a pet the wildman who overseers Hogwarts' grounds would _love_ to have."

"What _do_ witches and wizards believe in, then?" asked Harry.

"Oh, many things," she said, once again staring down at the book. "It all depends on where they come from. Those from Muggle families usually keep whatever beliefs they were raised on. Pure wizarding families, however, do not practice any religion. Why, do you?"

"No; the Dursleys aren't religious," said Harry slowly. "They don't like much of anything 'supernatural' or beyond their understanding."

Aelia rolled her eyes without looking up. "You could fill a library with everything beyond _their_ understanding."

"Yeah," he said, drawing in a deep breath. "Hey, Aelia?"

She glanced up at him over the top of her book.

"You said…I looked like my father?" asked Harry, his heart pounding. "That means you—you know what he looks like? And my mother, too?"

"Of course, your parents are famous, remember?"

"Then"—he scooted to the edge of his seat, a warmth pooling within his chest—"do you think you could bring me a picture of them? My parents, I mean. Not even to keep, I just—"

Aelia smiled softly. "I should be able to do that for you—though it might take a little while. I'll see about finding a nice colour photo of them both."

"Thanks, Aelia," said Harry, feeling the ear-to-ear smile that now stretched across his face.

He was going to see the faces of his parents after ten long years. It was a moment he'd dreamed of more times than he could remember. Just how much would his father really resemble him? What parts of him looked like his mother?

These thoughts filled his head for the rest of their time at the bookshop, and even on his way back home.

He had placed the three set books Aelia had lent him into his school bag and didn't dare to remove them again until he was safely in his cupboard. He would have to find a good hiding spot for them all.

He didn't even want to _dream_ of the Dursleys reaction if they found out he had them.

* * *

"He doesn't have any pictures of his parents?" asked Cyprian.

"No," said Aelia, watching her hairbrush float about her head in the mirror. She winced when it pulled a tangle in its tireless efforts to tame her morning hair. "Those awful Muggles he lives with never bothered to give him one."

"They sound really mean. Why would they do that?"

"They're Muggles, Cyprian," she said simply. "They hate him and anything to do with magic. Keep him locked in a cupboard, of all things."

"But why? Does he have trouble with his magic, too?"

Aelia shook her head. "His only trouble is that he hardly knows anything about it."

Over the past several days she had searched for a picture of Potter's parents, but thus far had only been able to locate old newspaper clippings about their deaths. She had promised him a colour picture, and so that wouldn't do.

Briefly appraising her reflection when the hairbrush completed its work, Aelia turned to her little brother. "In any case, that shouldn't matter to you—are you ready to continue our lesson from last week?"

"Y-yes," said Cyprian slowly. "I suppose…"

"Be confident, Cyprian," she said, taking his hand and leading him from her room. "You're ready for this."

For over half a year now, she had spent every weekend helping her little brother try and control his magic. Being at work during those hours, their parents were unaware of these lessons, and with good reason—Mother wouldn't want her practicing magic with her brother, while Father would be afraid of Cyprian accidentally hurting her.

Four years ago, when she had first started learning under the tutelage of Professor Nandoro, the lessons had been solely on control. There were no spells being taught during those first months—he wouldn't even allow her to use the wand that had chosen her at Gregorovitch's. Rather, she had learned to master the power of _focus_ and _intent_, just as he had learned to do during his time at Uagadou.

To gain full control of one's magic, one had to tame—not suppress—their emotions and feelings, to focus them towards whatever goal the witch or wizard wished to achieve. To make them, and thus their magic, serve their will.

Cyprian tugged gently on her arm as they travelled the long corridors of their forest manor. "A-Aelia…?"

"Yes? What's wrong?"

"Before we start our l-lessons, could you tell me a story? Something happy?"

Aelia frowned down at him as they descended the stairwell into the entrance hall, his big hazel eyes capturing hers and refusing to let go. She sighed. "Oh, alright."

She had truthfully expected him to guilt her into telling him a story. He had made it almost a tradition for their weekend lessons by this point. This fortunately meant that she had just the story in mind, and it was one of her personal favourites.

Soon, a small corner of the Quidditch pitch behind their manor had been filled with tiny figurines and other miniatures, all of them working in unison to bring to life the tale she weaved for her little brother's amusement over the next half-hour.

"…and one by one, the hopping pot gobbled up the villagers, leaving only their torches and their pitchforks behind," said Aelia, magically commanding the small toy hopping pot to consume the miniscule figurines.

Cyprian watched in amazement at the miniature pantomime that Aelia was putting on for him. She wanted to give her little brother a positive impression of magic that would hopefully stick in his mind, and possibly chip away at the fear and hatred that had taken hold of him.

"Now only a few villagers remained," she continued, the figurines approaching a small model hut. "They once again approached the wizard's home, but this time it was with an offer of peace—they would allow him to practice his magic henceforth and never trouble him again. In thanks, the wizard orders the hopping pot to wretch up _all_ the villagers it had consumed!"

All the figurines that had vanished into the pot previously came spewing out on the ground, where they staggered slowly to their feet and hobbled over to join their fellow villagers. "And from that day forth, the wizard and villagers lived peacefully."

Cyprian clapped his hands furiously, his eyes alight with joy. The figurines took a bow in appreciation. "That was brilliant, Aelia!"

"Thank you," she said, smiling. "And _none_ of it would have been possible without magic. Just as magic allowed the wizard to protect himself against the villagers in the story, it also allowed me to put on this show for you."

Her little brother nodded hesitantly. It had been a long process, trying to reinforce in him the idea that magic wasn't just the terrifying, unpredictable force that he believed it to be. That it could be fun and helpful as well.

"Alright, Cyprian—are you ready to begin our lesson proper?"

"Y-yes, I think so," he said, though his eyes fell.

After clearing away the figurines from the field, Aelia brought him to the centre of the Quidditch pitch to begin their lessons in earnest. Given that he still appeared to be quite nervous, she had decided to start by repeating one of her Professor's lectures to him.

"…'Accidental magic most often occurs during times of great stress'," explained Aelia, reading from her old study notes. "'The desperate desire for escape, aid, or even revenge spurs their magic into action to fulfil those needs. Therefore, if you can master those desires, you will master magic in turn.'"

"What does all of that _mean_, though?" asked Cyprian.

"He was trying to say that if you want something badly enough, your magic will try and make it happen, so you should try and only want things on purpose."

"But you didn't want the m-monster to appear that night, and it _did,"_ said Cyprian.

Aelia suppressed a shiver when the memory of that _thing_ flashed through her mind. "He told me that it appeared because I was already certain it was there—on some level, I wanted my fear to be real."

"But…why?"

"I wanted to feel like I wasn't afraid without good reason," she said, staring off into the distant haze that surrounded their manor. "I thought I was too old to be afraid of something that _wasn't_ there, so…I made something that _was_."

Cyprian appeared to still not fully comprehend her meaning, and she could hardly blame him—it still made her head spin a little too, and she was supposed to be the genius here.

"Well, let's try this," said Aelia, magically calling a quaffle to her hand from the nearby ball rack. Placing it in the middle of the field, she gestured at the lonely sphere. "See if you can make the ball come to you, like I did just then."

Cyprian looked as if she had told him to chop his left arm off. "B-but I can't, Aelia! It's impossible for me…"

"You never know! You're _my_ brother, after all," she said. "Besides, it doesn't really matter if you succeed right now; I just want you to stop being afraid of _trying_ to use magic."

Swallowing heavily, Cyprian reluctantly extended his hand towards the quaffle. It didn't move, and after only about five seconds he lowered his arm in defeat. "I can't…"

"You don't _want_ to," Aelia corrected him sharply. "You're still afraid. You must really, truly _want_ the quaffle to come to you, Cyprian. Remember, _you_ are the one in control of your magic. 'It marches to the beat of your heart's desire'. You _do_ want to control it, right?"

Cyprian shakily nodded.

"Then try again, and this time focus on how much you _want_ the quaffle. On how much you _need_ it."

Once again, he extended his arm, his brows knitting in concentration. Ten seconds passed, and then twenty, his pale cheeks flushing red. When it looked as if he might give up again at thirty, Aelia quickly stepped to his side.

"Keep going," she said. "You're surely not afraid of a silly ball, are you? Hurry up and call it to you!"

Her professor had often taunted her in order to push her to go further than she thought possible. While she hated being mean to her brother, she would do so to save his life. Seeing Cyprian's lips curl back into a slight snarl, her words appeared to have hit home with him. The quaffle began to tremble.

"Good, it's moving, keep going—"

The quaffle stopped. Cyprian's back went stiff, his pupils vanishing into a pallid abyss. Before she was able to properly react to what she was seeing, Aelia found herself instinctively raising her arms to block the quaffle as it slammed into her with a disgusting _crack._

Thrown off her feet, she hit the ground hard and (as her world turned black) was treated to the worst pain she had ever felt since…well, _that_ night. It took her several moments to even register where it was coming from—her right arm, which had been the unfortunate recipient of the speeding quaffle.

"Aelia!" she heard Cyprian shout.

Forcing her eyes to open again, she saw her little brother's teary face as he stood over her. She wanted to say something, to comfort him, but she was afraid that if she opened her mouth right now the only thing that would come out would be a howl of agony.

"Wurbles!" cried Cyprian, and—reacting to her brother's summons—the house-elf appeared with a sharp snap.

His yellow eyes parted in horror when he caught sight of her arm, which had started to swell like there was a big, red tomato stuck in the middle. He knelt beside her, huge tears falling onto the Quidditch pitch in pence-size drops. "Young mistress! What did this? Oh, young mistress…"

"I…I d-did," choked Cyprian, barely able to speak. "It w-was m-m-my fault…"

Aelia immediately reached up with her good hand to seize Wurbles by the black drape he wore for clothing, shaking her head firmly. "Q…Quidditch…accident. F-fell…"

It was difficult to speak without screaming, so she was very grateful when he seemed to understand that she was giving him an order. With the poor way she had worded it, it would have probably been easy for him to tell her parents anyway…but she and Wurbles had always been close. Aelia knew he wouldn't.

Climbing slowly to her feet with the help of her servant and sibling, there could be little question that her arm was quite broken. It didn't really matter; broken bones were an easy heal. Wurbles could handle that much.

It was her brother who had suffered far more lasting damage. He had tried to use magic and hurt her, because she had been foolish enough to think it would be alright to make him angry. She had completely underestimated how difficult it would be to train an Obscurial, something even experienced witches and wizards struggled to do.

When did she become so full of herself?

"…I'm sorry, Cyprian," said Aelia.

She was now sitting on the edge of her bed, her arm in a sling. The bitter taste of Skele-Gro still burned in her throat, and though Wurbles had taken care of the swelling, the potion ensured her injury remained quite painful. "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard."

"Why are _you_ sorry? I'm the one who messed up," said Cyprian, sniffing. His head had been buried in her left shoulder since they had arrived in her room. "I'm the one who hurt you…"

"Oh, it's just a broken arm!" She nuzzled into his head. "It'll be healed before Mother and Father even get home—we won't need an excuse after all, we'll just not mention _any_ of this."

Cyprian looked up at her, his lip still quivering. "B-but I still hurt you. I can't control it…"

"We just tried to move too quickly, that's all," she said, wrapping her good arm around him. "We'll take things a lot slower from now on, alright? Just _promise_ me you won't give up."

"But w-what if—"

"What if _nothing!" _Her eyes narrowed. "Promise me; I would feel absolutely _horrible_ if you stopped trying because of this."

Cyprian bit his lip, but shakily nodded.

Breathing out a sigh, Aelia settled back onto her bed, allowing her head to sink into the pillow, though she still stared up at her little brother. He was nine years old, now. In just two years he would be attending Hogwarts himself.

She was running out of time...

* * *

A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was the first chapter to be partially from Aelia's perspective. As the deuteragonist of the story, you'll occasionally see things through her eyes every now and then!

Now, it's time for the reviews!

**Slytherin Potter** **writes:** _This has to be the most in-character Pre-Hogwarts Harry I have ever seen! Well done with this chapter cannot wait to read more._

**R:** Oh, thank you so very much! Getting Harry's character right was extremely important to me when I was writing these earlier chapters. I must have read over the first part of Philosopher's Stone nearly a dozen times while working on it!

**DS2010 writes:** _Enjoyed Harry spending time with Aelia_

**R:** I'm glad! If you liked that, then hopefully you enjoyed this chapter as well! There will certainly be plenty more of that in the chapters to come!

**Son of Whitebeard writes:** _Good to see Harry have fun_

**R:** Right? He really deserves to have a good time after all he's been through!

**Guest writes:** _Liking a curious Harry Potter asking questions_

**R: **Harry has been told for his entire life to _not_ ask questions, and now the dam has been broken!

And that's it for now! I'll see you all in two weeks! The next chapter will be released on November 26th!


	4. Chapter IV: Dudley's Best Birthday

**Chapter IV**

**Dudley's Best Birthday**

"**H**urry up with my omelette, boy!" barked Uncle Vernon.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," said Harry, sliding the still smoking ham and cheese omelette in front of his uncle, alongside a plate with four pieces of buttered toast. Dudley already had his, and next to be served was his aunt.

On the surface, it seemed like a perfectly normal morning at number four, Privet Drive. Fragmented rays of sunlight poured in between the curtains, the warm and clear day being heralded by the gentle song of sparrows.

"M-mummy, they're outside!" stammered Dudley, his fork clanging as it hit the tiled kitchen floor.

Leaping to her feet and dashing to the window, Aunt Petunia threw it open and screamed, "AWAY! AWAY WITH YOU, VERMIN!"

It took all of Harry's strength not to laugh.

After that day at the playpark, Dudley and his gang had become deathly afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes. This made it incredibly easy to flee from their attempts to bully him, as a few sharp whistles was all it took to send them charging for the nearest available cover.

"Wretched feathered rats," spat Aunt Petunia. Returning to the table, she wrapped her arms around Dudley. "Mummy won't let them hurt her dinky-diddums."

Uncle Vernon grunted. "Should just exterminate the lot of them, I say; let us have a peaceful morning without all that incessant chirping."

But Harry liked the birds. Not only did they frightened his cousin, but they reminded him of his friend, Aelia Yaxley. It had been two and a half months since they had first met. On most days, they would talk beneath the oak tree by the playpark, which Dudley now avoided at all costs. Other times they would explore Little Whinging or visit the book shop at Wisteria Walk.

The only times they didn't meet up were during the weekends, when Aelia claimed to be busy. What she was busy _with_, he hadn't asked—it would've felt rude. It didn't really matter anyway; he now had plenty to keep him occupied.

After breakfast, he returned to his cupboard. Climbing onto his bed, he lifted his pillow to reveal a pair of books: _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1,_ by Miranda Goshawk and _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch. _Magical Theory _was beneath his bed, as he had finished reading it.

Aelia had told him to gain a solid grasp on Magical Theory before moving on to the others, and he had. He had read that book from front to back, and although he had been initially reluctant, he found it to be rather fascinating once he'd gotten into it. A lot of what he had witnessed Aelia doing over the past two months now made a lot more sense to him.

As the book had explained, there were three distinct branches of magic—charms, transfiguration, and potions. Every spell and magical effect in existence could be categorized into one of these three branches, including the jinxes, hexes, and curses, which were largely composed of harmful or otherwise dangerous Charms. They seemed a little less scary now that he understood them better, Voldemort notwithstanding.

He wouldn't mind letting Dudley taste a few jinxes at the very least.

Of course, his efforts at _performing_ magic weren't exactly what he would call successful.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" said Harry, his finger pointing at the quill lying on his bed. After a precise flick of his wrist, it had remained completely motionless. He hadn't even ruffled its feathers.

Sitting on the floor of his cupboard, he continued willing the near-weightless quill to rise into the air. After many minutes, it eventually flopped pathetically onto its other side, but otherwise remained uncompelled.

He initially felt a great jolt of excitement when he had at last made the feathers tremble ever so slightly. After all, it was his very first use of intentional magic! Now, after over two months of hardly making any progress, he was growing rather frustrated with himself.

Aelia had claimed that being able to move it all without a wand was a sign of great talent, yet Harry didn't feel very impressive. This was his only opportunity to do magic before Hogwarts, a chance to avoid being miles behind everyone else there. They were probably all like Aelia, already knowing how to perform all sorts of spells.

His progress with _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ was likewise underwhelming, evidenced by the pile of slightly off-colour matchsticks littering the corner of his cupboard. If only he could have his own wand…

"Ollivander won't sell you one until you've received your letter," she had explained. "Besides, Professor Nandoro says it's better to learn to use magic without a wand first."

Harry scoffed at the memory, shoving the books back under his pillow. "Easy enough for her professor to say."

Thankfully, there was _one_ other thing besides his futile attempts at spellcasting that could take his mind off his life with the Dursleys.

Reaching beneath his thin mattress, Harry withdrew the photograph that he had carefully hidden there. Turning it over revealed a happy couple actively smiling and waving up at him as if he were somehow looking into a tiny window. The way they moved, the way the wind blew through their hair, it was all so real that he felt as if he could almost reach in and touch them. Falling back onto his bed, he greedily drank in the faces of his parents.

His father was thin, with round glasses and messy black hair that even stuck up in the back the same way Harry's did. He wore a confident smirk as he continued to wave. His mother, meanwhile, had pale skin, dark red hair, and was staring up at him with bright green eyes that were an exact match for his own.

For years he had tried to imagine what his parents might look like, their faces as diverse and fluid as his life with the Dursleys was static. Now he would stare at them for hours each night, burning their image into his mind just so he could see them yet again in his dreams.

Even if they were gone, he at least knew who they were and where they came from. One day soon, he would go there too; to the wizarding world, where he would be normal—or at least accepted.

The cupboard door rattled violently, tearing his eyes away from the photo. Frantically, he stuffed it back under his mattress.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

"It's time to prepare supper!" his aunt screeched from the other side. "I need you to watch the roast!"

Harry sighed. Just how long had he been looking at that photo?

The scent of the roast beast caught in his nose as he stepped out into the hallway, causing his stomach to rumble. For all her faults, his aunt was certainly an excellent cook. It was a shame he wouldn't be able to enjoy more than a thin sliver of meat from it.

Aunt Petunia mostly ignored him as he watched the roast simmer, humming quietly to herself as she tended to the greens. She was in a good mood, and Harry knew why—in less than a week they would be celebrating a _very_ important day within the Dursley household. More so than any mere holiday or marital anniversary, in fact.

Yes, it was Dudley's eleventh birthday.

He expected Uncle Vernon to return home any day now with his car secretively stuffed with the contents of his cousin's metre-long list of presents. He would be awoken extra-early that day to help prepare Dudley's birthday breakfast. Where the Dursleys would go after that was anyone's guess.

Harry, unfortunately, knew _exactly_ where he would be going. Every year they would send him to stay with old Mrs. Figg, where he would be treated to stale cakes and an endless stream of cat pictures from her photo album, which she never seemed to tire of. Half of those cats were dead now!

It was easily his least favourite day of the year.

As the weekend passed, Harry could feel his mood growing ever more sour, as it always did this time of year. Even seeing his friend after school did little to improve his state of mind.

Aelia was quick to pick up on this, pressing him to explain the situation to her.

"…I see. And they do this every year? I really can't understand those Muggles you live with," she said, laying against the old oak. "Why do they even keep you?"

"I don't know," said Harry, his back against the shaded grass. "I'm pretty good at chores, maybe that's it?"

"You're not a house-elf, Potter. Someone ought to teach those Dursleys a little _respect."_

"It's fine, Aelia. I'll be going to Hogwarts soon, anyway."

"Are you sure? That won't be until September, you know."

"It's been like this for ten years, I'll be fine," he said, though he wasn't feeling very fine at all.

It was a sunny Monday afternoon; the frequent chirping of the songbirds overhead ensuring that Dudley would stay far away. The park was quite active, the laughter of children carrying far on the wind—another benefit of his cousin's gang being absent. Every kid seven and under had trembled at the approach of the five boys, but now everyone knew their weakness.

Harry had made certain of that.

Glancing over, he saw that Aelia was casually using her finger to direct roughly a dozen fallen leaves in an elaborate dance through the air. Galloping about the space between them like a small Chinese dragon, they eventually settled into a spiralling tower that resembled a strand of DNA from one of his biology books. He doubted this was intentional on her part, as her knowledge of science seemed incredibly limited.

"When do you think I'll be able to do that?" he asked, propping himself up on his forearms. "I can still barely move the quill you gave me."

Lying open beside Harry were his two spell books. Though he didn't always bother to study when Aelia was with him, it often paid to have her advice on hand.

"It's difficult to say, Potter," she said. Lowering her finger, she allowed the gentle breeze to reclaim the leaves. "I suspect if you had your wand, you could do so already—most witches and wizards our age would be completely useless without one."

Turning to properly face her, Harry leaned forward. "Then, do you think I could try it with yours? Just for a bit!"

Aelia stiffened at his request, the colour draining from her tightly pursed lips. He thought for certain she would refuse. Hesitantly, she reached for her handbag and withdrew her wand from inside. "Which is your wand hand?"

"I'm right-handed, if that's what you mean," said Harry, trying to contain the flush of excitement washing over him.

Gently pressing the handle of her wand into his right hand, her now empty left hand slid down over his fingers and carefully guided them into place. "Keep your thumb on the side and index finger on top, and lightly pinch the base of the shaft between them. This allows for more quick and precise wand movements, I find."

"…Alright," said Harry, forcing air through his nostrils. Her eyes were still focusing on his hand when they darted up to capture his gaze. He immediately looked down at the wand.

He had never had the chance to see it up close. It was smooth and tar-black, with elegant grooves winding and crisscrossing their way through the handle. The shaft was long and narrow, with a thin snake-like thread of wood that slithered around it until nearly the halfway point.

"Should I try the Levitation Charm?" he asked, immediately searching for some feather-weight object to lift. His eyes settled on a fallen leaf.

"Over there, Potter," said Aelia, pointing at a small rock near the tree. "Try levitating that."

Harry's recoiled in disbelief. "What? I can't even move my quill! That's got to weigh half a kilo or more!"

"You're not using your finger this time," she said simply, folding her arms. "Now, go on."

Frowning, he aimed the wand at the rock. With a practiced flourish, he said, _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Without delay the rock lifted from the grass, rising quickly until it was floating parallel with the tip of Aelia's wand. Harry could hardly believe it—he didn't even have to strain himself! In fact, it had felt almost effortless on his part, the stone obediently following his every direction.

"I can't believe a wand could make _that_ much of a difference!" gasped Harry, watching the stone dance through the air.

Aelia smiled, retrieving her wand from his reluctant hands. The rock promptly fell back to the earth with a grassy thud. "And it's not even _your_ wand. When you're chosen by your own, it will be even easier for you—that's why you should keep practicing the way you have been. The more you can accomplish wandlessly, the more magic you'll be able to perform after visiting Ollivander's."

"Yeah," said Harry, feeling an immense relief settle over him. "It's good to know it's not all been a waste of time! Thanks, Aelia."

Aelia replaced her wand into her handbag before settling back against the great oak. "You really ought to stop doubting yourself. You're _The Boy Who Lived_. Why, I'll bet you'll even rival Merlin one day!"

"Merlin?" asked Harry incredulously. Sitting beside her, he tucked his knees in against his chest. "I doubt Merlin ever had to live in a cupboard."

With a wave of her hand, Aelia swatted his doubts away like an annoying fly. "You'll see, Potter. I'm sure you'll be sorted into Slytherin, with your talent!"

"Sorted? Slytherin?" asked Harry, feeling as if she had just dropped another crucial piece of information.

"Oh, bludger; I've still not told you about the four Houses of Hogwarts, have I?" said Aelia, clasping her face. "I'm _such_ a scatterbrain."

"It's fine—what about houses?"

"Well, you see," said Aelia, "Hogwarts was founded by _four_ powerful witches and wizards: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. Each of them then formed a House within the school based on the types of students they wanted to teach, handpicking their favourites."

"So…I'm going to be chosen by one of them when I arrive at Hogwarts?" asked Harry, feeling his stomach lurch. He always hated having to be picked for teams, and this sounded like a rather more permanent selection.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter," said Aelia, rolling her eyes. "They're long dead—Hogwarts was founded more than a thousand years ago."

Harry's jaw dropped. He had never imagined that Hogwarts could be _that_ old. History was never his best subject, but wouldn't that mean the school was around even before the Norman invasion? Just the thought of how many witches and wizards must have studied there made his head swirl. It all painted a rather clear picture of just how insignificant he was in the scheme of things.

Sucking in a deep breath, he asked, "T-then…how _are_ we 'sorted'?"

"Well, it's a bit of secret, you see," said Aelia, smirking. "You can't, for example, learn this from _Hogwarts: A History_. Luckily for you, however, _I_ have access to Yaxley Manor's library!"

"Is there a House for being really smug about everything?" Harry asked without thinking.

Aelia fixed him with an icy glare. "Very funny, Potter. As I was saying, upon arriving at Hogwarts we will all be taken through _The Sorting Ceremony_. An old wizard's hat will be placed upon our heads, and send us to the House we most belong in."

"A _hat?"_ asked Harry. "How does a hat sort somebody?"

"Well, legend has it that the four founders each enchanted the hat with a bit of themselves," Aelia explained. "It knows what traits each of them valued in their chosen students and can see if you match them."

"But I don't understand—what sort of traits does it want?"

"Like I said, each founder looked for different things in their students. For Gryffindor it's courage, chivalry, and determination. For Ravenclaw, wit, intelligence, and wisdom. Hufflepuff valued loyalty, hard work, and dedication. Lastly, Slytherin wanted students with cunning, ambition, and resourcefulness."

Out of all of those, Harry thought Hufflepuff sounded like the best fit. The Dursleys certainly made sure he was hard working with all the chores he often had to do after supper. Aelia seemed to disagree, claiming he would be better suited for Slytherin. He couldn't see how—he wasn't cunning _or_ resourceful, and his greatest ambition was to avoid getting his head dunked in the toilet by his cousin.

Of course, it could be possible that he wasn't suited for any of the Houses. What if he put the hat on and it decided that he wasn't meant to be a wizard after all? That he had to go home?

"Aelia," he said slowly, "has anyone ever been rejected by the Sorting Hat?"

Blinking, she glanced up at the sky for a moment. "Well, there's a book about a Squib named Angus Buchanan. He snuck into Hogwarts with the help of his brother and tried to put the Sorting Hat on his head during the ceremony! Can you imagine?"

Harry's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"Well, the hat was very lovely to him given the circumstances. It told him he was a kind boy, but no wizard, and he fled the Great Hall in tears."

A shiver shot up his spine, and he pulled his knees closer still. He didn't even want to _think_ about that happening to him.

"You're not worried about being sent away, are you?" asked Aelia. "That won't happen, you're…"

Harry stared at his friend, waiting for her to continue with her reassurance. Her face had taken on a rather odd expression, and though the silence was brief, the weight it placed on his heart conjured memories of the time Dudley had sat on him when they were little.

"…you're going to study _especially_ hard until then, so the hat will have no choice but to accept you. Alright?"

Harry's stomach twisted. So, he _could_ be rejected if he wasn't good enough? After everything he'd learned about the wizarding world, about his parents, he could still be sent back to the Dursleys?

No. He _wasn't_ going to let that happen. He would rather spend a thousand hours pointing at his quill than stay at Privet Drive.

"Alright," he said firmly. "By the time my letter gets here, I'm going to make that quill _move."_

Aelia—seeming quite pleased with his declaration—nodded. "Wonderful! I know you can, if you set your mind to it."

Harry forced a smile. Despite his confident-sounding words, they masked the heavy doubt still weighing on his shoulders. Could he really do that? He had apparently learned _something_, since he was able to move the rock, but that was only with the help of Aelia's wand.

"What made you so sure I could be a great wizard, anyway?" asked Harry.

"It's rather obvious at this point, Potter," said Aelia. "In just ten weeks you went from knowing _nothing_ of magic to mastering the Levitation Charm and, I suspect, the Match to Needle spell as well. If you were untalented, you wouldn't have been able to move the rock."

Staring down at the grass, he tried desperately to picture himself being great. To imagine standing over everyone else at school, the star pupil who everybody admired and wanted to be friends with. He really did try—but it just felt _wrong_ to him.

"Confidence, Potter!" said Aelia, tearing him from his thoughts. "I'll be there to help you as well, of course! Friends help one another, yes?"

Harry smiled dryly. "Yeah…just have to make it through one last day at Mrs. Figgs' and everything'll be fine. I hope..."

Whether it truly was the last or not, it was a day he would spend the entirety of the next week dreading. Desperate to distract himself, Harry worked harder than he ever had before to master the two spells he knew, as if being able to levitate a feather or transfigure a matchstick could somehow save him from the taste of stale cake. Of course, it had made little noticeable difference. No matter how hard he tried; it was impossible to make any meaningful progress in a weeks' time.

Just as he had predicted, Uncle Vernon had returned home on Friday with a car packed full of gifts. He didn't know how they planned on hiding them from Dudley until the next morning, but he could take solace in the fact that he wouldn't have to unload them.

The Dursleys would never trust Harry with such important cargo.

He had an unpleasant dream that night, a memory of the time he had been chased up a tree by one of his Aunt Marge's dogs, Ripper. It made him feel almost relieved when he was startled awake by the sound of his aunt banging on his cupboard door.

"Up! Get up! Now!" she screeched.

Rubbing his eyes, Harry rolled out of bed and onto his feet. Pulling on his pants, he made his way into the kitchen, which was now filled with his cousin's colourfully wrapped birthday presents. Aunt Petunia gave a slight start when she turned from the cooker to see him standing behind her.

"Oh. Watch the bacon here—and don't you dare let it burn! I want everything to be perfect on Duddy's birthday!" said his aunt.

Although he obeyed, Harry wasn't exactly sure where he was supposed to put the plates when breakfast was done—the table was likewise covered with presents, including what he suspected was Dudley's new computer.

By the time Harry was trying to find a spot for their eggs and bacon on the table, Dudley had already entered the kitchen and started meticulously counting each and every one of his presents, as he always did. Something appeared to be wrong this year, however.

"Thirty-six…that's two less than last year!" said Dudley, his face slowly turning red.

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present. See, it's under this one from Mummy and Daddy!" said Aunt Petunia.

"Thirty-seven, then!" he said, in no way satisfied.

Harry had started shovelling his breakfast in, knowing that there was a strong possibility his cousin might just flip the table. He didn't want to even _imagine_ the avalanche that would ensue—that computer could kill somebody!

"And we'll buy you two more presents while we're out today!" promised Aunt Petunia, desperately trying to placate her son.

"So I'll have thirty…thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums."

"Oh. All right then," said Dudley, who immediately set upon the nearest parcel.

How his cousin could always remember the exact number of presents he had received the previous year and yet not understand the most basic of addition was always a great mystery to Harry. Dudley's inability to use Nursery-level mathematics failed to rouse any concern from his parents, however, who were simply happy to have averted the tantrum.

Hearing the telephone ring, Aunt Petunia quickly went to answer it while Harry and his uncle watched Dudley hungrily work his way through his gifts, sending wrapping paper flying in every direction.

"Bad news, Vernon," said Aunt Petunia, her lips twisting in anger. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him—now what?"

"We could phone Marge."

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

"What about what's-her-name, your friend—Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca."

Even as they debated on who would be burdened with the task of watching over him, Harry could feel his heart soaring. No cat pictures, no stale cake. It was more than he could have ever hoped for!

"You could just leave me home," suggested Harry.

Aunt Petunia's lips somehow twisted even more than they already had. "And come back to find the house in ruins?"

"I won't blow up the house," said Harry. He unfortunately didn't know that spell, yet.

Their debate on what to do with him continued for about a minute longer, until both agreed—much to his cousin's chagrin—that they would have little choice but to bring him along with them to the zoo. Dudley, of course, pretended to cry in protest, sending his mother into a minor panic.

"Mummy won't let him ruin your special day!" promised Aunt Petunia to her wailing son as the doorbell rang. "Oh, good Lord, they're here!"

Dudley immediately stopped pretend-crying as Piers Polkiss strolled in alongside his mother. Soon, Harry found himself sitting beside Piers and Dudley in the backseat of the Dursley's new car while his uncle spent most of the trip to the zoo complaining about motorbikes.

"…Roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," grumbled Uncle Vernon.

He was tempted to bring up the dream he'd had a few weeks back, but after how his uncle had reacted to his last "dream", he quickly decided against it.

The zoo was crowded with families when they arrived, as expected on a clear and sunny Saturday morning. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams from a van that was parked near the entrance.

"And what'll you be having, dear?"

Harry paused, almost startled by the question. Staring up at the smiling lady in the van, he shot a glance to his decidedly irate uncle. The Dursleys were just about to hurry off into the crowded zoo.

"What's the cheapest on your menu?" asked Uncle Vernon. "Give him one of those."

The lady's smile twitched downwards ever so slightly, and she disappeared into the van. She returned with an ice lemon lolly in hand, passing it to Harry without even waiting for his uncle to pay her. "There you go, dear."

"Thank you!" he said, watching Uncle Vernon begrudgingly shove a couple of notes onto the counter.

Eagerly licking his ice lolly, he savoured the surprisingly delicious treat as the five of them made for the gorilla exhibit. Offering a silent prayer of gratitude to whomever might be listening, Harry watched a gorilla scratch its head. It greatly resembled Dudley, although it wasn't blond, nor did it flinch every time an exotic bird screeched in the next exhibit over.

"Don't worry, sweetums, they're locked up tight in their cages where they belong," Aunt Petunia reassured her son, ushering them in the opposite direction.

Harry had to stifle a laugh. It was the best morning he'd had in years, and his good fortune continued into lunchtime, when they ate at the zoo restaurant.

"THE ONE IN THE PICTURE WAS BIGGER!" shouted Dudley, drawing the eye of several other customers.

"Yes, w-well…" stammered Uncle Vernon, looking apprehensively between his son's knickerbocker glory and the one displayed on the overhead menu at the counter.

"'Well' nothing, Vernon!" snapped Aunt Petunia. "It's false advertising, that's what it is! How is my Dinky-diddums supposed to make it through the day if they won't feed him properly?"

"I WANT A BIG ONE, LIKE IN THE PICTURE!" Dudley shouted again, his face turning red.

Uncle Vernon raised his hands placatingly. "Right, of course. Must get our money's worth, eh, Dudley? Here, boy!"

Harry's uncle shoved the unwanted knickerbocker glory in his direction. Quickly lifting a spoonful into his mouth, he almost shivered—it was the most delicious treat he'd had since Aelia brought him lunch nearly three months ago. As difficult to believe as it was, he was forced to admit that he was _enjoying_ his time with his relatives for once.

Had he unintentionally cast some sort of spell that was making them behave slightly less horrible towards him?

Following lunch, they visited the cool and dark reptile house. Lit windows all along the walls displayed every manner of lizard and snake. Slithering and crawling over bits of wood and stone alike, they were simultaneously eerie and fascinating.

Of course, all that interested Dudley and Piers were the largest and deadliest creatures on display. It didn't take them long to find what they were looking for—a boa constrictor so large that it could've easily crushed Uncle Vernon's new car into a dustbin. Despite its formidable appearance, however, it seemed perfectly content to ignore them. In fact, it was sleeping soundly.

Dudley shoved his face against the glass, blocking everyone else's view. "Make it move!"

Uncle Vernon rapped his knuckles on the glass, but the snake refused to budge even an inch. His son ordered him to do it again, but it was no use. It was determined in its ignorance of them, a trait Harry found rather admirable.

"This is boring," moaned Dudley, hobbling off to torment some other creature.

Harry moved closer to the tank, staring sympathetically at the snake. It had to be a pretty miserable life, forced to lay there all day while people banged on the glass and gawked at it. At least he could leave his cupboard, presuming the Dursleys weren't angry with him.

Suddenly, there was a flash of awareness in the snake's lidless eyes that hadn't been present before. Slowly, it raised its head until it was level with Harry's own. He stared back for a moment, before glancing about the reptile house to see if anyone else was paying attention. They weren't, and so he looked back at the snake and smiled.

The snake jerked its head towards Uncle Vernon and Dudley, its static expression somehow saying quite clearly, _"I get that all the time."_

"I know," answered Harry, though he wasn't sure if the snake could hear him through the thick glass surrounding the tank. "It must be really annoying."

The snake eagerly nodded. Was _this_ some form of magic? Could wizards talk to animals? Maybe that was how Aelia controlled the birds she'd summoned.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" asked Harry.

The snake used its tail to point to a small sign near the glass that read: _Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor pointed at the sign again: _bred in captivity._

"Oh, I see," said Harry sadly. "So you've never been to Brazil."

When the snake shook its head, Harry started to open his mouth, but they were both given a start by Piers Polkiss, who had apparently caught sight of their conversation. He screamed for Dudley and Uncle Vernon to come look at the snake.

Waddling towards the tank with an uncharacteristic speed, Dudley punched Harry in the ribs to knock him out of the way.

Harry hit the concrete floor, wincing in pain. He glared angrily up at Dudley, balling his fists. Slowly clambering to his feet, he watched the snake lower its head to return to sleep—or at least pretend to sleep.

"Come on, do something, you stupid, lazy snake!" demanded Dudley, pounding his fists on the glass.

_Lazy,_ he said. All Dudley had ever done was eat and bully other children, Harry most of all. Who was he to talk about others being lazy?

Harry's eyes fell to his cousin's trousers, to the overburdened button struggling to hold them together. They would've looked cartoonishly oversized on any other eleven-year-old, but Dudley had strained them to their limit. No matter how big he became, his parents would always just buy him larger clothes rather than even _trying_ to make him go on a diet.

He always got _everything_ he wanted like that, even if what he wanted was to make his own cousin suffer for _no reason._

Harry, in that moment, felt his anger boil over. Aelia was right—it wasn't fair, the way he could push him and everyone else around without consequence. He _deserved_ to be punished!

The tortured button suddenly trembled, and then popped, making a loud crack as it struck the glass. Dudley gave a startled jerk away from the tank, only for his trousers to fall around his ankles. Stumbling with a yelp, he collapsed onto his rear. With his Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles underpants on full display, laughter filled the reptile house. Children and parents alike shared in the snickering while a screeching Aunt Petunia ran to help her son up.

Dudley began to sob, as Uncle Vernon picked the offending button up off the ground. Growling furiously about cheap tailoring, he hurried the five of them from the reptile house. As they were leaving, Harry threw one last glance at the snake.

It was staring back at him and, somehow, he knew that it was laughing, too, in its own way.

They quickly left the zoo, and the ride home proved to be pleasantly quiet.

Piers tried to take Dudley's mind off his wardrobe malfunction by talking about the upcoming release of _Ultimate Carnage IV_, one of their favourite video game series. It was no use; Dudley sat cross armed and red faced the entire trip, refusing utter more than a word or two in response.

Harry returned to his cupboard once they were home, happily falling back onto his bed. He could still taste the knickerbocker glory on his lips. His aunt and uncle continued complaining outside, making idle threats to sue the makers of their son's trousers. To hear them tell it, they had ruined _Duddy's_ special day.

But as far as Harry was concerned, it had easily been his cousin's best birthday ever.

The following Monday, he met with Aelia beneath their tree and was quick to explain the events that took place at the zoo.

"You popped his trousers?" cackled Aelia, holding her stomach as she sat on the grass in front of him. "All without anyone noticing?"

"Yeah," said Harry, leaning against the oak tree. "It wasn't exactly on purpose, I didn't use a spell or anything, but I was angry."

Aelia smiled proudly. "It was the best sort of 'Unintentional Magic'—the kind you wanted to happen! Probably a Knockback Jinx. Focusing in on the button was _incredibly_ cunning of you, Potter. I _knew_ you belonged in Slytherin!"

He started to open his mouth to correct her. To say he wasn't cunning, and that it wasn't impressive. Instead he found himself returning her smile. His spirits were still high, his chest swelling with something that almost resembled _pride._

He had finally gotten one up on Dudley, and he'd done it all on his own this time. There was nothing wrong with feeling good about that, was there?

"Oh, I almost forgot!" said Harry excitedly. "Before that, something really strange happened! Well, strange for me. You know the snake I was looking at when Dudley knocked me down?"

"Yes?"

"Well, before that, we were—we were talking, almost, me and the snake," he explained, trying to find the right words. "It could understand me when I spoke to it, and I somehow just _knew_ what it was saying back, even through the glass! Why didn't you tell me wizards could talk to—Aelia? Are you okay?"

What little colour she had to begin with had completely drained away. Her wide eyes were focused squarely on him. She opened her mouth to speak, and it took several tries before she was able to choke out, "Y-you talked…t-to a snake?"

"Yeah?" he said, kneeling to check on her. "What's wrong?"

"Potter, are you _certain_ you spoke to it? Are you certain it understood you?"

"Yes! Why? Is there something _wrong_ with me talking to the snake?"

"It means you're a _parselmouth,"_ she said seriously, drawing long breaths to calm herself. "It marks you as a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself!"

Harry stumbled back into the tree, grasping at the bark for support. "W-what? You mean…the Hogwarts _founder_ you mentioned last week?"

"The very same," she said, standing cautiously.

He could hardly believe his ears. She was now claiming that _he_ was descended from one of the original Hogwarts founders from over a thousand years ago! Wasn't it enough for him to already be a famous wizard? "You're…you're teasing me again, right, Aelia? This is all a joke…you can control birds, so it must be normal for us, right?"

"That's different, Potter. I'm not actually speaking to them in the way we are now," she explained. "Being able to speak parseltongue is an incredibly rare gift, one that can't be learned. It's also one that many people fear. I wouldn't go telling people you can speak to snakes unless you really trust them."

Harry's heart grew tight in his chest. He had never imagined that speaking to the Boa Constrictor could've been something bad within the wizarding world.

Seeming to pick up on his sombre mood, Aelia frowned. "Listen—I'm sorry for reacting the way I did. It was just…surprising. It really isn't something many can do, but it isn't _bad_, either! It's quite brilliant that you have such an ability, truly!"

"But you said people were afraid of parselmouths," said Harry miserably. "Why would they be afraid of it if it wasn't anything bad?"

"People fear lots of things they secretly wish they could do—it's all simple jealousy," she said, smiling gently. "Besides, not _everyone_ is afraid of parselmouths; most in Slytherin House would be really excited to have one in their year! You have the blood of their founder, after all!"

He laughed mirthlessly. "Great, I'll only be hated by three-fourths of the school, then."

"You won't be hated!" Aelia gave a frustrated sigh, folding her arms. "Really, Potter—you'll be the most famous wizard in Hogwarts next to Dumbledore himself."

"I'm not worried about being famous!" he snapped. "I've no friends at school because everyone's too scared of Dudley's gang to come near me! I just…don't want it to be the same at Hogwarts. I don't want to be alone there, too."

Aelia's irate posture deflated, her expression softening. Stepping forward, she placed her hands gently upon his shoulders. "You won't be, because I'll be there with you. I'll even help you make other friends, if that's what you want. I promise you'll never have to be alone in our world, Harry."

The tightness that had gripped his chest instantly faded into a deep, tingling warmth that washed over him. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. He didn't really know how to react or respond in that moment, so he latched onto the first thing that came to his mind.

"…You called me 'Harry'!" he said, smiling broadly.

Aelia blinked once, before slowly grinning herself. "Yes, I suppose I did."

* * *

A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed reading the fourth chapter of Harry Potter and the Book of Lost Souls! We've finally caught up to where the main part of Philosopher's Stone began! But from here on out, everything you know will be going in a radically different direction!

Oh, and I have a **SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT** for all my readers!

The next chapter is already finished! That's right, it's done! Therefore, I'll be releasing it _next week_, on **December 3rd!**

Now, to respond to some reviews!

**DS2010 writes:** _"I do like Aelia finding out how Muggles view magic always good to see both sides._

_I liked her working with her brother she has a lot of patience with him"_

**My reply:** Although she might never admit it, Aelia _is_ rather curious about the Muggle World! It's as mysterious to a pureblood like her as the wizarding world is to a Muggle-raised wizard like Harry. And I'm also happy you enjoyed her interactions with her brother! Their relationship and his role in the overarching story will grow in time!

**Slytherin Potter writes: "**_What do you mean she's running out of time..? That sounded very ominous.. Anyways that moment with Dudley and the rest of the gang with those birds was hilarious. What a way to screw someones day over with bird poop in your mouth! Seems like Book of Lost Souls Harry will care more about magic than canon Harry did and actually will put in the time and work on it. Probably even use his fame for deals instead of just resenting it._

_Aelia teaching her brother Cyprian how to do Magic was a nice change of pace. Makes sense that she got hurt because in the end she's a kid too and it's easy to underestimate another child's magical ability by provoking the same way an adult could easily prevent from happening._  
_I'm glad I followed this story and I sure as hell cannot wait for the next chapter on November 26th."_

**_My__ reply:_** It _was_ rather ominous, wasn't it? And I'm happy to hear you enjoyed the scene with Dudley! When punishing bad characters, one always walks a fine line between justified and sociopathic, so I usually try and stop short of causing _permanent_ harm to them. As for Harry, well, he wasn't really a bad student in the first few books. He _did_ want to study his set books (although the Dursleys often locked them in his cupboard, preventing him from doing so), and was quite enthusiastic about learning magic. It's just in the latter books, with all the trauma he suffered with Cedric, Sirius, and Voldemort, as well as the influence of people like Ron (who really _was_ unstudious) that he stopped trying as hard. His perspective on his fame, however, could indeed change! It is quite a valuable tool thats usefulness shouldn't be discarded!

And yes, teaching Cyprian is an credibly dangerous task for an eleven-year-old to take on, no matter their ability. If things had gone a bit worse, that bludger could have struck her in the head instead! Provoking him was a very foolish thing to do. I'm very happy you followed as well, and I'm especially happy you left me such an in-depth review! Responding to it was a real joy for me!

**Guest writes:** "That was funny with the sciences with the birds attacking Dudley. Ariel little brother is cute although the last line dos not sound reassuring she running out of time. Harry learning magical theory is a good stepping stone in doing magic and not jumping in the firer immediately with spell casting"

**My** **reply:** I'm happy you found it to be funny! As a certain scene from the The Philosopher's Stone will not occur here, I felt that Dudley needed another form of magical punishment to replace that! And learning Magical Theory is indeed important! Without that foundation, the events of this latest chapter would not have been possible for Harry!

**EphemeralFlames writes:** "I really enjoy your writing style, and I really like how you explore Harry's neighborhood so thoroughly. :)"

**My reply: **"It makes me very happy to hear that you enjoy my writing style! I've always been interested in fleshing out Little Whinging, as the details we receive in canon are pretty sparse and disparately spread throughout the seven books. I did my best to base my expansions around the canon facts we _do_ know, but I still had to fill in a lot of gaps myself!

And that's that! See you all next week! ^^


	5. Chapter V: Escape to the Leaky Cauldron

**Chapter V**

**Escape to the Leaky Cauldron**

The summer holidays had never been something that Harry particularly looked forward to. After all, even if there was no school, he still spent the day trying to avoid Dudley and his gang. Their favourite summertime sport, Harry Hunting, ensured that he avoided the house at all cost until evening.

But this year was different. His eleventh birthday was fast approaching, an important time for every young wizard and witch. Before the thirty-first of July, his acceptance letter to Hogwarts would be arriving.

September felt so close now that it was almost painful, and this burning anticipation had served as fuel for the continuing development of his magic.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" said Harry, knitting his brows.

Shakily rising from the bed, the quill uneasily followed the movements of his finger for about ten seconds before he allowed it to float back to the mattress. Falling back onto his pillow, he exhaled a sharp breath. Finally, after nearly four months of practice, he was able to reliably perform the Levitation Charm.

Glancing up at the shelf above his bed, he smiled. A slightly match-shaped needle was resting proudly there, glimmering beneath the lightbulb overhead. It likewise reminded him of how far he had come since he first met Aelia back in April. Of course, he had only learned two spells out of "thousands". He would need more than that before he would feel confident about making it through the sorting.

Of course, that was assuming he even made it to school to begin with. If his aunt or uncle got their hands on his letter first, they would surely rip it to pieces. Just the thought of his only hope of escape fluttering to the ground in shreds kept him up late.

But that wasn't going to happen.

Like a dutiful nephew, he had gotten the post every morning for the past two weeks. Uncle Vernon was at first surprised by Harry's sudden eagerness, but quickly began to take it for granted.

It seemed like the Dursleys were either unaware of Hogwarts, or were so excited by Dudley's acceptance into Smeltings (Uncle Vernon's old school) that it had slipped their minds completely. Harry had already been forced to endure a day at Mrs. Figg's house while his aunt went to London to purchase her son's new uniform.

It wasn't too bad, though; Mrs. Figg had broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, as it turned out, and so she wasn't in the mood for pictures. Instead, he watched television while snacking on a piece of chocolate cake that was just about the right age for Dudley's gang to start picking on. After returning home with his aunt that evening, Harry was treated to quite the sight.

"Oh, Vernon," wailed Aunt Petunia, tears pouring from her eyes, "my Ickle Dudleykins is already growing up! He looks so handsome!"

Sniffing proudly, Uncle Vernon puffed out his chest. "Caveat Smeltonia! Proudest moment of my life."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut to cage the laughter that was stampeding up his throat. Dudley was now prancing about the room in his maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and a flat straw hat called a boater. It was easily the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen.

The next morning, Harry awoke to a rather putrid smell working its way in from the kitchen. It was coming from a metal tub resting in the sink. Desperately fighting to keep his appetite, he peaked in the tub and saw that it was filled with old rags swimming in grey water.

Glancing up at his aunt who was making breakfast, he asked, "what's this?"

Her lips pulled tight at the unwanted question. "Your school uniform."

Harry glanced back at them for a moment and said, "I'm guessing Stonewall's mascot is an elephant?"

"How should I know?" snapped Aunt Petunia. "Go sit at the table, I don't need you in my way this morning."

Obliging, Harry took his seat and internally debated on whether he or Dudley would look more absurd in their respective uniforms. As foolish as his cousin looked, at least his clothes _fit_. Of course, it didn't really matter—he wouldn't be going to Stonewall High as the Dursleys assumed.

Under different circumstances, he might've been looking forward to attending the local comprehensive, if for no other reason than that he would be away from Dudley and his gang. Next to the promise of Hogwarts, however, that small victory would ring hollow.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley entered the kitchen, something that was even easier to hear now that Dudley insisted on banging his smelting stick against everything in sight. It was a part of his uniform and reminded him just a little of Aelia's wand. He doubted the Dursleys would appreciate _that_ comparison, nor would she.

The letterbox clicked, and they heard the flop of letters on the doormat. Harry immediately shot to his feet. "I'll get it!"

Uncle Vernon grunted in acknowledgement from behind his newspaper as Harry went to get the post. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Aunt Marge, what looked like a bill, and…_a letter to Harry!_

Feeling his breath catch in his throat, he snatched it up off the floor with all the speed of a striking viper. Harry stared at the letter in a stunned glee, a deep warmth spreading from his centre as his hands trembled.

It was _here_. At last, this was _it!_

He read over the envelope several times:

_Mr. H. Potter  
__The Cupboard under the Stairs  
__4 Privet Drive  
__Little Whinging  
__Surrey_

They even knew what part of the house he lived in!

"Hurry up, boy!" called Uncle Vernon. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?"

Quickly stuffing his letter into the front of his trousers, he allowed his baggy, oversized shirt to fall back over it. For once, having Dudley's old hand-me-down clothes had proven useful.

After breakfast, Harry nearly forgot to clean the dishes in his excitement to return to his cupboard. Once he was finally there, he pulled his letter free and examined the envelope once again. There was a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a lion, eagle, badger, and a snake surrounding the letter _H. _Each of the animals must have represented one of the four Houses.

Cautiously breaking the seal, he removed his letter. It, like the envelope, was written on heavy parchment. It read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)  
_Dear Mr. Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall,  
_Deputy Headmistress_

He fell back onto his bed, his face parted by a manic grin. A tingling numbness was quickly working its way up his legs, making it impossible for him to stand.

He had been accepted into Hogwarts. After hearing about it for months now, after _dreaming_ about it for countless nights, he would finally be able to leave Privet Drive behind and enter the wizarding world, see Diagon Alley, purchase his wand from Garrick Ollivander!

Panting in short, heated breaths, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears again. The parchment trembled gently in his hands as he read it over and over again. It all felt so close now, all he had to do was send his response.

"Right," he whispered. "They await my owl…"

He didn't have an owl, but he could just ask Aelia to deliver it for him. She was already going to give him some parchment to write his reply on.

Something then fell from the letter and onto his chest. Picking it up, he quickly realized that he was staring at a list of items. Set books, quills, cauldrons, and a whole list of other items. The burning in his chest cooled slightly.

It was all going to cost a _fortune._

How were they expecting him to afford any of this? Had they assumed the _Dursleys_ would pay for it all? If that was the case, then he might as well start trying on his elephant skin uniform. How cruel of an irony would it be for him to come _so_ close, only to end up going to Stonewall anyway because he was too broke to learn magic?

Harry shook his head fiercely.

"Calm down," he said, breathing deeply. "You know a witch…you can ask her."

Reading over both his letter and the list of items several more times that day, he would carefully fold them back up into the envelope they had originally arrived in when he awoke the next morning.

Aelia had remained frustratingly nonchalant as he explained his situation to her that afternoon.

"...Oh, is that all?" said Aelia, not even looking up from the book she was reading—_The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts_ by Arsenius Jigger. "That won't be a problem. Just ask for assistance in your letter and then give it to me."

"They'll pay for everything on my list?" asked Harry, now sitting beneath their oak tree.

"Of course; do you think only the wealthy can attend Hogwarts?"

"Well, it _is_ a boarding school, and you're…"

Aelia's dark blue eyes shot him a glare over the top of her book. "Say any variation of 'smug' or 'snobbish' at your own peril."

"I wouldn't call you something like that, Aelia," said Harry. "I'd wait till I didn't need a favour."

Crinkling her nose, she slammed her book shut and placed it on the ground in front of him. Reaching into her handbag, she retrieved a roll of parchment, ink pot, and quill and shoved them all into his hands. "Go on then. Write your response."

He wondered if it was normal for a witch or wizard to carry all of that around with them? Maybe it was, if that's how they talked to one another over long distances.

Unrolling the parchment onto the cover of her book, Harry dipped the quill in ink and pressed the tip against the thick hide. He glanced up at Aelia. "Um, should I address it to the headmaster or the one who wrote the letter?"

She shrugged. "I addressed mine to Professor McGonagall."

Nodding, he began to write. Immediately, a slight shiver ran up his spine at the scratch of the quill against the parchment. It was distinct from that of a pencil and paper, crisper. Every word he wrote seemed to carry a greater weight through its permanence. He felt like a scribe in some fairy tale.

NUMBER FOUR, PRIVET DRIVE  
Dear Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, ma'am

Thank you for accepting me into Hogwarts. I am very eager to attend your school and learn everything that I can about magic. Unfortunately, I am unable to afford everything I need. I would be extremely grateful for any help you could offer.

Yours sincerely,  
Harry Potter

"Will that be alright?" he asked, handing the parchment back to Aelia.

"Should be," she said, glancing over his letter.

"Will it really manage to arrive before the thirty-first?"

"By owl post? Oh yes."

"Then," said Harry, feeling as if he might choke up a cloud of butterflies, "I'm _definitely_ going to Hogwarts!"

"Yes, this will guarantee it. I'll drop it by an Owl Post Office before I return home," said Aelia. Glancing down at the letter again, she cupped her chin. "Though, now that I think about it, your assistance money will probably _return_ by owl, since that's how we're sending it."

"_What?"_ Harry reflexively jerked his head in the direction of Privet Drive. "If the Dursleys see an owl landing in their yard with a letter, they'll nail my cupboard shut with me in it!"

Aelia smirked. "The owl will deliver the letter to wherever _you_ are, Harry, not your home."

"But I live _in_ my home!" he said. "I can't exactly sleep under the tree until it arrives."

She snickered, climbing to her feet. "Not a fan of camping? In that case, I believe it's time for you to take a long holiday to the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry froze, allowing the meaning behind her words to properly sink in. "You don't mean…run away? Leave the Dursleys?"

"Well, _yes!_ That's what you've told me you wanted for the longest!" Aelia rested her hands on her hips. "The Leaky Cauldron has rooms that you can stay at until school starts. I'll cover the cost—it's not much."

Harry stared at her, torn between excitement and disbelief. "How do you know to do all of this?"

"I've been doing research for the past few weeks to figure out a way to help you leave those _Dursleys_ behind once your letter arrived."

"You've been _researching_ how to help me?"

She shrugged, looking away. "Since my tutoring ended, I've had lots of free time."

Harry felt a warmth rapidly grow inside of him. He stepped towards Aelia and wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened in surprise, but slowly relaxed and returned his hug. "Thank you, Aelia. This…really means a lot. You didn't have to do _any_ of this."

"I felt like I needed to, though," she said, stepping back. "I know how it feels to be friendless and hated—and your situation is so much worse than mine. It would have felt wrong to just turn my back on you."

"I still appreciate it," said Harry, smiling. "What do you want me to do?"

"Pack whatever you want to bring with you and meet me by our tree at midnight," she said, moving away from the great oak. "I'll have Wurbles with me, so don't be startled."

Harry didn't have much to pack, in truth. Years of only receiving old socks or clothes hangers for his birthday did carry _some_ advantages, he supposed.

That night, he effortlessly fit everything he owned into his old school bag. That was the easy part. The hard part came when he remembered that he didn't have a watch, and so it was difficult to know exactly how late it was. A brief peak outside his cupboard told him it was night readily enough, but he couldn't chance a glance at the kitchen wall clock until he heard Uncle Vernon thundering his way up the stairs for bed.

The wait was agonizing, in no small part due to the very real threat of him being discovered by his aunt and uncle. He didn't even want to _imagine_ the sort of punishment they could dream up if they were to catch him sneaking out in the middle of the night. It would certainly end any hope of him _ever_ escaping.

Finally, the unmistakable protest of the steps above him told Harry that his uncle was preparing to turn in for the night. Even so, he erred on the side of caution and patiently waited for what _must_ have been close to half an hour before edging open the cupboard door.

The lights were out. That was a good sign; he had made many a late-night food runs when he had been forced into his cupboard without dinner. A look at the wall clock told him it was only eleven thirteen, and so Harry crept into the garage, where he recalled that his uncle kept a torch. Gently closing the door behind him, he flicked the light on only long enough to locate what he was searching for.

"Great, the batteries are still good," whispered Harry in relief, shining the torch into the once again dark garage.

Returning to the hallway, he stopped in front of his cupboard, now stripped of his belongings. Would the Dursleys miss him at all when he was gone? Would they be happy? Dudley might regret not having him to kick about, at the very least. Never once in his ten years here had they ever made him feel like anything but a waste of space.

Well, he wouldn't be wasting space here anymore.

"Goodbye," he said, turning to leave number four, Privet Drive behind forever.

Though it was still a little early, it was probably best for him to leave while he could. The last thing Harry wanted was for any of his relatives to need to use the toilet right when he was making for the door.

Deftly undoing the locks on the front door, Harry stepped out onto the lawn. Shining his torch onto the pavement ahead, he began to stalk his way across the grass. The worst was over. Now he just had to—

WORF! WORF!

Harry froze in his tracks. Pivoting the torch in the direction of the barking, he saw Mrs. Emmerson's mangy terrier glowering at him with its beady, black eyes. His heart practically did a flip in his chest as it continued to yelp noisily.

"Shhh! Shut up!" hissed Harry.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimmer of light from his aunt and uncle's window. A wave of dread threatened to drown his hope of escape in that moment, but—without any real forethought—he bolted down the pavement as quickly as his legs would carry him. He couldn't remember ever running more swiftly, even when Dudley's entire gang had been bearing down upon him.

He ran and ran, until His heart felt as if it might smash free of his ribs. His breaths were strained and ragged. He could feel sweat pouring down his brow in the warm summer air, his entire body beginning to ache. But he didn't stop, not for one solitary second. Through the darkness he ran too quickly to even properly see where he was going.

Perhaps it was thanks to the brief glimmers of torchlight he was able to steal in his furious sprint, or because he had travelled this route hundreds of times on his way to school over the years, but eventually Harry found himself standing before the play park. His oversized shirt was now heavy with sweat, his face drenched in the same.

Staggering his way through the park as he gulped for air, he very nearly had to crawl up the hill to the looming oak. Collapsing against the tree when he finally reached the top; he slid down to the ground. Not once during his flight from Privet Drive had he so much as glanced back for fear of seeing his uncle somehow right behind him, purple face twisted with fury. It was silly, of course; Uncle Vernon couldn't run for more than twenty feet without collapsing.

Harry was unsure of just how early he was now; there was no sign of Aelia. The temptation to simply close his eyes and sleep right there was frustratingly strong. Every muscle and bone in his body felt like it weighed a tonne. He desperately hoped that whatever Aelia had planned, it wouldn't involve any more running.

It was difficult to tell how long he sat there, propped against the old oak in the dead of night. He always assumed it would be rather scary out here, this late. In fact, it was quite peaceful. If there was one thing he would miss in Little Whinging, it was this tree under which he had learned so much about the wizarding world.

A gust of wind cooled his face, and the gentle rustling of the leaves calmed his nerves. He honestly couldn't complain about the wait—he welcomed the chance to rest after his desperate escape. He wondered if the Dursleys were aware it was him, or if they hadn't even realized he was gone yet. Maybe they hadn't seen him at all, and his uncle had been content to scream at the barking dog on his lawn.

After what must have been _at least_ fifteen minutes, Harry felt like he could once again move his arms and legs reasonably well. Clambering to his feet with the aid of the oak, he glanced around for any sign of Aelia. Surely, he couldn't have been _that_ early?

Then, for the second time tonight, a flash of light captured his eye. This time his initial reaction was one of excitement, thinking that maybe she had at last arrived through some glittering spell. His heart immediately plummeted into his stomach when he realized he was staring straight into the headlights of his uncle's car, now parked beside the bench where he had first met Aelia.

But how? How had they known where to find—the torch!

He had, in his exhaustion, dropped it on the ground after scaling the hill. He never bothered to extinguish it! Up this high, it must have practically served as a beacon leading straight to him. Cursing his own stupidity, Harry did the only thing he could think of and turned off the torch, but it was too little, too late.

"BOY!" Uncle Vernon bellowed into the night, sounding angrier than Harry had ever heard him. "I KNOW YOU'RE THERE! IT'S NO USE HIDING!"

But Harry had no intention of going down there. His uncle had often threatened to "knock the stuffing out of him" if he misbehaved, but this time he sounded angry enough to actually _do_ it. With the torch extinguished, it was impossible to know how close Uncle Vernon was, but his booming voice was growing louder by the second.

This was it, the end of his escape. Unlike before, there was nowhere for him to run to now; this is where Aelia had told him to meet her. Even if he tried, there was simply no way he could outrun their car. Closing his eyes, he waited quietly to feel Uncle Vernon's beefy hands around his throat.

Instead, a loud, echoing _crack_ shattered the night like a gunshot, causing Harry to momentarily think that his uncle had finally decided to be done with him entirely—but Uncle Vernon didn't own a rifle, as far as he knew.

"Lumos!"

An immediate swell of light pressed at his eyelids, Harry parting them to see Aelia and…_something_. It had large, bat-like ears and bulging yellow eyes that sent an eerie wave of nostalgia rushing over him. _This_ was Wurbles, the house-elf!

"I'm _terribly_ sorry, Harry," said Aelia, holding the glowing tip of her wand high to better light the area. In contrast to the simple dresses Harry was used to seeing her wear, she was now garbed in a maroon robe and matching witch hat. "I thought my father would _never_ leave his study for bed. I couldn't risk Wurbles being gone when he might need him."

"It's…it's fine, Aelia," he said, his joy at seeing her tempered by the knowledge that his uncle was nearly upon them. "B-but we need to hurry! Uncle Vernon—"

"Intolerable…ungrateful…middle of the night…"

Harry turned at the sound of his uncle's wrathful yet enervated growls. He had nearly surmounted the hill, though the effort had left him as exhausted as Harry after his flight from Privet Drive. His face burned red, a large vein swelling at his temple as sweat dripped from his moustache.

Rather than being frightened, however, Aelia merely shined her wand on him so that she might have a better look. Uncle Vernon immediately stopped in his tracks, his beady eyes wincing through the light at the three of them. His expression quickly cycled through rage, alarm, and abject horror as his gaze ultimately fell upon the house-elf.

Wurbles meekly raised a hand in greeting.

"ARGH!" Uncle Vernon recoiled as if the small creature had just tried to maul him, losing his footing on the steep incline. Down the grassy hill he tumbled on his side, not stopping until he had reached the outskirts of the play park.

"My," said Aelia, staring down the hill, "I've seen gobstones roll worse."

Harry couldn't help laughing at the sight of his uncle floundering to his feet and fleeing back to the waiting car (and Aunt Petunia) with whatever energy he had left. He was shouting about how a "giant hairless rat" had tried to tear his face off. It seemed he had momentarily forgotten about dragging Harry back to Privet Drive.

"Wurbles was only saying hello," said the house-elf in a slow, guttural voice. "Strange and erratic creatures, these Muggles."

"We should probably leave while he's distracted, yes?" suggested Aelia, taking Wurbles by the hand.

"Yeah," said Harry, following her lead and grasping the opposite hand of the house-elf. He immediately wished that Aelia had given him some forewarning about how exactly they would be traveling. Holding onto Wurbles for dear life, he twisted his way through a dark abyss that felt like it wanted to force his teeth through the back of his skull.

"Gah!" Harry gulped a lung full of air, falling onto his hands when the strange effect ended. Aelia immediately rushed to his side and helped him to find his feet again.

"I'm sorry, Harry! I didn't think it would be so rough on you, since we were apparating via house-elf."

"I…I'm fine," said Harry, feeling as if he now understood how it felt to be toothpaste. "I was just surprised…"

And he continued to be, for he was no longer standing by the old oak. Instead, they were in a small, walled courtyard that was host to only an old rubbish bin and a few weeds.

"W-where are we, Aelia?"

"The Leaky Cauldron," she said, gesturing to the pub behind them. "Well, the back of it. We couldn't very well apparate onto Charing Cross Road."

Removing a neatly folded black cloak from her robes, she tossed it to Harry. "Put that on over your clothes."

"Err, why?" asked Harry, nevertheless complying. The hood very nearly fell over his glasses.

"You're famous, remember? It's probably best if nobody knows you're here, at least until you hear back from Hogwarts. Trust me."

"Alright," said Harry reluctantly.

"Make sure and keep your head down!" Aelia proceeded into the pub, gesturing for Harry to follow. "Let's purchase you a room, Harry."

"Right," he said, keeping stride with Aelia. Wurbles appeared to be staying in the courtyard, only offering them a bow of his head.

Having never even been inside a Muggle pub before, he hadn't the slightest clue what to expect. Drawing a heavy breath as the whaff of alcohol graced his nostrils, he took his first step into the wizarding world.

The Leaky Cauldron was not at all like what Harry had expected. Dark and shabby, it was nevertheless busy despite (or perhaps because of) the late hour. Keeping his head down per Aelia's instructions, he allowed her to approach the innkeeper on his behalf.

"Well, hello young lady," said the barkeep, who looked like a bald, gummy walnut. "I had wondered if you'd be returning—it's been nearly a fortnight, hasn't it?"

"That's right, Mr. Tom," said Aelia, smiling. "I would like to purchase a room for my friend here."

She jerked her head in Harry's direction, his cloak hopefully doing well to obscure his features. Reaching into her robes, she withdrew a small brown bag that jingled with her every movement. When she dumped part of its contents onto the bar counter, Tom's dark eyes twinkled against the tremulous candlelight.

"This…is enough for five weeks," he said, clearly startled. "Does your friend have a name?"

"Of course! It's Cornfoot. Henry Cornfoot," said Aelia without a hint of shame.

Harry could feel himself starting to sweat again as Tom the innkeeper eyed him curiously. He lowered his head even further, almost bending over. He began to wrestle with the idea of saying something, but ultimately decided to stick to the plan. If things went in a bad way, it wasn't going to be _his_ fault.

"Alright, Mr. Cornfoot," said Tom, sweeping the galleons off the counter, "I'll show you to your room."

Aelia's shoulders sagged in relief when the innkeeper turned away from her, leading the pair of them up a handsome wooden staircase that groaned beneath their mutual weight. They arrived before a door with a brass number eight on it, which Tom kindly unlocked and opened for them.

Despite the timeworn appearance of the pub below, the room itself was surprisingly cosy. The bed looked quite comfortable and the polished, and oaken furniture gleamed beneath the lantern light.

"Enjoy your stay," said Tom. Bowing to them, the innkeeper closed the door behind him.

"Honestly, _Cornfoot?"_ said Harry, frowning at Aelia.

"It's a real family!" Aelia protested; she couldn't quite keep her lips from twinging upwards. "In any event, you should be able to receive your letter now without those Muggles causing trouble."

"But won't it have my name on it? My _real_ name? Somebody might see it."

"Not," she began, stepping towards the room's solitary window and throwing it open, "if you keep the window open. Owls always prefer direct delivery when possible. Look, there's an Owl Post Office right below you."

Harry nearly leaped from his shoes on hearing this, rushing forward so quickly that the hood of his cloak flew back. Poking his head through the window, he took in the lamplit street below. Though virtually all the shops were closed at this late hour, he could still make out several of the locations Aelia had told him about—Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, Flourish & Blotts, Potage's Cauldron Shop, and the aforementioned Owl Post Office.

"Look, there," she pointed to a shop between Potage's and Wiseacre. "That's our family's apothecary. It's mainly run by old Ross MacDougal, but you can usually find my mother there as well…if you _want_ to."

Her tone gave Harry the impression that he didn't. He really had no clue about her homelife, but given his own dislike of discussing his life at Privet Drive and his problems in general, he wasn't about to ask for any details.

"Alright," she said, making for the door. "I should probably be getting home before somebody notices I'm gone. I'll visit you tomorrow morning, alright?"

"Sure," said Harry, waving after Aelia as the bent tip of her hat bounced with her every step. "I'll see you tomorr—hey wait!"

"What?" She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, glancing over her shoulder.

"You never really explained to me why I need to pretend to be somebody else. I _know_ I'm 'famous'," said Harry, the word still sounding strange when affixed to him, "but aren't people _happy_ that Voldemort is gone? Why would I need to hide?"

Briefly facing the door again, she smiled back at him. "It's just easier this way, Harry. You _did_ run away, after all. See you tomorrow."

"See you," he said, feeling rather unsatisfied with her explanation.

Now alone, Harry pulled up one of the wooden chairs in the room and simply stared out the window at the night-time street below. Even if he didn't have any money, even if he would have to hide under a cloak, he would _definitely_ visit Diagon Alley in the morning.

* * *

"I'm really not sure what I'm supposed to do, Wurbles," said Aelia, sitting on the edge of her bed, her hat beside her.

"You still didn't tell him, Young Mistress?" Wurbles asked, standing beside the bed.

She slowly shook her head. "How can I, now? He's so looking forward to Hogwarts, to _everything_. It would _ruin_ the wizarding world for him."

She truly had intended to warn him when they first met, but she hadn't been _at all_ prepared for Harry's complete ignorance of his heritage. She had to explain _everything_ to him, even the most basic of things that every wizard and witch should know. For nearly four months she had served as his sole guide to wizarding society and watched him grow ever more excited with each passing day.

Where, in his budding world of wonder and magic, was she supposed to say "our government and the headmaster of the school you're going to have been spying on you for years. They know your life is horrible and don't seem to care!"?

And those _Dursleys_ really did treat him like a freak: locking him in cupboards, making him wear ill-fitting clothes even by Muggle standards, barely feeding him. The last thing she ever wanted was for him to think that he might _still_ be an outcast in _their_ world. He deserved to see Hogwarts and the wizarding world as his new home.

Aelia threw herself back onto the bed with a huff, folding her arms behind her pillow. "If I were to let him walk about Diagon Alley as Harry Potter, Father would certainly find out that I'm going to see him."

"If Wurbles might suggest, Young Mistress," said Wurbles, poking his head over the edge of the bed, "you could always _talk_ to your father?"

"What?" Her head turned sharply towards the elf. "What good would _that_ do?"

"Master wishes to be friends with Harry Potter, does he not?" Wurbles smiled. "Well, Young Mistress _is_ friends with Harry Potter! You could introduce them at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters!"

Aelia scoffed and stared up at the roof of her bedstead. "Father wants to _use_ Harry for a bunch of stupid politics. Probably wants to have him shake his hand while a _Daily Prophet_ reporter takes a picture."

"But if Young Mistress tells Master that Harry Potter is her friend," Wurbles continued, "then he might _not._ Master _loves_ his daughter; he wouldn't ruin her friendship!"

Aelia sighed, closing her eyes.

Her relationship with her father _was_ a lot better than the one she had with her mother—which could scarcely even be _called_ a relationship at this point. It might be worth a try, asking him to leave Harry alone.

"Yeah, maybe," she said, glancing to Wurbles. "But not right now. I'll wait a few weeks, till school is closer, just in case something goes wrong."

The closer Harry was to Hogwarts, the easier things became. At least, that's how it felt to her.

* * *

There you go, an early chapter! Don't expect this every week, since I doubt I could keep up such a pace! We'll be returning to our usual schedule for the next chapter, so you can expect it out in two weeks! That's December 17th!

Now, to respond to some reviews!

**Slytherin Potter writes:** _"I'm going to see if I can recommend this story to a few people I talk to here on this site, because for me your writing style as EmphemeralFlames said is really enjoyable and I feel you deserve the recognition.  
__Dudley getting traumatized by the bird event that it's affecting how he goes around doing things from then on is a nice touch haha. I cannot wait for when Harry shows up with an owl, Dudley will never come near Harry ever again._  
_Love the divergence from canon instead of vanishing a whole mirror and later getting in trouble for it unknowingly he actually willed something that "normally" would happen for the Dursleys like the button popping. Dudleys humiliation right there was pure golden material and again as someone else once said love Harry/Aelia relationship. The ending with,"You called me Harry!" was sweet. Hope to see more confidence in this Harry since it for sure is coming along nicely in these last few chapters."_

**My response: **Wowzers! That would be really amazing if you actually got your friends to read it! Thanks so much! It can be really hard to get your work out there at times, and that helps SO much!  
Oh yes, Dudley's ornithophobia will be sticking around for quite a while! Interestingly, however, Dudley will have no reason to be instinctively afraid of magic here, since - as you may have guessed - he never has a run in with Hagrid here.  
And yes, my goal when I started writing this story was to avoid simply retreading old ground like so many other fanfictions do. I must have read a hundred different fics where the only difference is Harry becoming good friends/lovers with an OC, or being a girl, or some other seemingly significant change that ends up making basically no real difference in terms of the main plot. And I'm happy you enjoy his friendship with Aelia! She is trying very hard to build up his confidence, but overcoming years of emotional abuse is no easy feat.

**DS2010 writes:** _"Best moment the button popping on Dudley's pants.  
__Liked how you handled the zoo and Harry talking to the snake that was cool"_

**My response:** Thanks! I really wanted to do something that showed Harry's progress in terms of both his magical abilities, and his willingness to stand up for himself in some way. While it was still _technically_ unintentional magic, there was a definite intent and focus there, through his anger!  
My only regret is that the poor snake didn't get to go free in the BoLS universe!

**Guest writes:** _"Love, love, love! I read part of this aloud to my guinea pig :) i'm excited for the early update and what mysteries may unfold in the future. I admire fics with lots of thought put into them, and ones with OCs put into them."_

**My**** response: **OMG, I LOVE guinea pigs! I hope she/he enjoyed it! I hope the early update lived up to your expectations! And in truth, mystery is a big part of this fanfic! This will become a lot clearer as the story unfolds and Harry arrives at Hogwarts. When it comes to Aelia, I tried to make her nuanced, though a lot of that won't be seen till later. My original first two chapters were from her PoV and showed more of her character, but I felt like they revealed too much, too quickly, so I had to remove them.

And that's it for today, everyone! I look forward to see you all again on December 17th!


	6. Chapter VI: Diagon Alley

**Chapter VI**

**Diagon Alley**

**T**he morning had started well for Harry.

Before he had even rolled out of bed, Tom the innkeeper had knocked on his door to offer him a full breakfast, free of charge. He wasn't sure if this came with the room, or if Tom was simply being kind because of how young he was.

After pulling the small round table in his room to the window, Harry had filled himself with eggs, bangers, and grilled tomatoes while watching the street below.

In contrast to the previous night, Diagon Alley was positively _bustling_ with activity. Hundreds of witches and wizards (garbed in every colour of robe imaginable) were cordially shoving their way through a forest of pointed hats to reach their shop of choice. It was very likely that even a "famous" wizard like himself would go unnoticed in such a throng.

The number of shops awaiting him below seemed even more overwhelming beneath the morning sun, and he could scarcely decide which he wanted to visit first.

Of course, given how late they were up, he would likely have to wait a fair amount of time for Aelia to arrive that morning. It was just as well, he supposed—he didn't exactly have any money, and if he was going to be leaping headfirst into the wizarding world, he would prefer to not do it alone.

After finishing with what was easily the best breakfast he had ever had, Harry considered how he could best pass the time. He had brought the set books Aelia had lent him, as well as some matchsticks and quills, so he supposed he could practice more…or just stare at his parents. That never grew old for him.

A gentle rapping on his door broke him from his thoughts. A quick glance at the wall clock told him that it was _precisely_ nine. Aelia had arrived early after all!

"I'll be right there!" said Harry, opening the door to reveal not Aelia, but a black-haired witch in emerald-green robes, who stood significantly taller than his friend. Her stern face immediately caused his stomach to sink. It was a look that adults only made when they were about to mete out some sort of punishment, in his experience.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," said the woman in a stiff and formal tone. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am here in response to your request for assistance."

"Oh!" Harry's face turned white. He hadn't been expecting Hogwarts to respond so quickly, much less send somebody to meet him. "Thank you. Erm, please, come in!"

Stepping aside, Harry watched Professor McGonagall sweep briskly into his room. He closed the door behind her while she seemingly took stock of the place where he had spent the previous night.

"How long have you been staying here?" she asked, still surveying the room.

"Just the night."

She turned to stare down at him behind her square glasses. "As I am to understand it, you have no money to pay for your school supplies. How were you able to afford a night in this room?"

"I…" Harry could feel himself withering beneath her stern gaze. Lying to this person seemed like a bad idea. "I didn't. My friend paid for me to stay here."

"Your friend?" she asked, her gaze somehow growing sterner.

Harry nodded slowly. He couldn't lie, but he didn't want to get Aelia in trouble. Saying nothing seemed like his only option.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, thankfully not pressing him further. Reaching into her robes, she withdrew a parcel marked with the Hogwarts seal. "I believe this belongs to you."

When she pressed it into his hands, Harry was immediately surprised by its weight. Running a thumb over it, he could feel a hard lump. His first suspicion was that the parcel was filled with galleons like Aelia had used to pay the innkeeper. Instead, upon opening it, he was presented with a tiny golden key!

"What's this?" he asked.

"The key to vault six hundred eighty-seven, your family's vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank," said Professor McGonagall. "You should find more than enough inside to cover your expenses. I would accompany you there, if you've no objections."

"No, of course not," said Harry, surprised that he was even given the choice. But there was one other concern. "Um, Professor? My friend is supposed to stop by sometime soon."

"I'm certain Tom will inform her of our departure," said Professor McGonagall, clearly having no intention of waiting. "Come along."

Leaving his room and briskly making their way down the stairs, she led him back to the courtyard where he had first arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Professor McGonagall then withdrew her wand and approached the wall behind the pub. Tapping a certain brick three times in quick succession, Harry watched in amazement as it wriggled from its place to leave a hole that grew progressively larger as more bricks followed its retreat. He was now staring at an archway that easily towered over them both.

Before them was a cobblestone pathway bordered by shops on either side. While he had seen some of them from his window already, having it all there right in front of him caused his heart to begin to drum with excitement. This was it—_the wizarding world!_

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "For your information, the brick that opens this archway is always 'three up, two across'. I would suggest you memorize it."

If she was at all amused by his open-mouthed awe, then the stern professor betrayed no hint of it on her ever-stoic face.

Moving past the archway, Harry glanced over his shoulder to see that the bricks had already resealed the entrance. Glancing to either side, he hungrily took in the sight of all the shops he had seen from his room—and quickly realized that he had merely scratched the surface of the broad and winding alleyway.

He would need to grow several more eyes before he could ever hope to take it all in. Since that level of advanced Human Transfiguration was impossible for him, he had to settle for frantically craning his head from one side to the other as they made their way through the crowd.

Passing by the Apothecary, Harry slowed his eager march to momentarily have a look in the glass window. He could see an old man inside, while the figure of a woman with dark hair moved about behind him. Was that Aelia's mother?

"Come along, Mr. Potter. We can purchase your Potions ingredients once we've concluded our business at Gringotts," said McGonagall, gently hurrying him along.

Eeylopes Owl Emporium next caught his attention. They had all sorts of owls, from common barn owls to the beautiful snowy owls. He recalled them being one of the pets permitted at Hogwarts. Having one would let him send letters without needing Aelia or the Owl Post Office!

Not that he exactly had many people he wished to write.

"I've always held a preference for cats, myself," said Professor McGonagall as they passed the Emporium, "but owls make for loyal and utilitarian pets."

As they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry was unable to stop himself from reading aloud the name of the broom that had been proudly displayed behind the window. "Nimbus Two-Thousand, fastest ever!"

"There's no harm in looking, but I should remind you that first years are not allowed their own brooms," said Professor McGonagall.

Their journey took them past clothing shops filled with robes and hats, windows that displayed telescopes and strange silver instruments with no Muggle equivalent that Harry could recognize, another apothecary full of ingredients, a shop filled with towering piles of books, another with quills, parchment, astronomy globes, and so very much more.

"We've arrived," said McGonagall, tearing him from the dizzying swirl of shops.

Harry was now standing before a snowy white building that easily dwarfed the surrounding shops. To the right of the burnished bronze doors was a creature not much taller than Wurbles, dressed in a uniform of scarlet and gold. It was swarthy, with a pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. The creature's narrow eyes carried a distinct glint of cunning within them.

"That's…a goblin?" asked Harry, resisting the temptation to point.

"It is," said Professor McGonagall.

They ascended the white stone steps and, despite Aelia's assertion that they were "rude, nasty little creatures", the goblin at the entrance bowed politely as they passed. A second pair of doors awaited them, and engraved upon them was an ominous warning:

"_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there."_

Harry swallowed hard.

He wasn't sure what the "more" the warning spoke of was, but he was very thankful to not be a thief. He was also now certain that his Uncle Vernon would have never been able to steal anything from his vault—he would have fled the moment he saw a goblin.

The pair of goblins standing guard dipped their heads as they stepped through the pair of silver doors to enter a great marble hall.

At least a hundred goblins were present here, most sitting behind a long counter where they scribbled in ledgers, weighed coins on brass scales, and examined precious stones through eyeglasses.

Approaching the counter, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Good morning. I believe that Mr. Harry Potter here wishes to make a withdrawal from vault six hundred eighty-seven."

"You have his key, ma'am?" asked the Goblin.

Professor McGonagall looked at Harry, and the goblin immediately aimed its long, pointed nose down at him.

"Oh, yes!" said Harry, fumbling for the key in the pocket of his trousers before handing it off to the goblin. He had been distracted by the vast number of doors that lined the hall. Goblins were busily leading witches and wizards through them.

Requiring only a moment to examine it, the goblin handed him back the key. "That seems to be in order. I shall have someone escort you to the vault. Gornuk!"

Another goblin approached the counter and directed them to one of the doors leading from the hall. Holding it open for them, the elegant marble that had comprised the bank thus far was immediately subsumed by a torchlit passageway of stone that was lined with train tracks.

Whistling sharply, Gornuk summoned forth a small mine trolley. Boarding it together with Harry and the professor, the three of them were sent hurtling down into the deep and cavernous bowels of Gringotts.

Though Harry tried to memorize their route, it was futile—the trolley seemed to have a mind of its own, with Gornuk calmly standing at the front with his arms crossed. The cool air stung at his eyes beneath his glasses as they violently jerked to-and-fro in their long descent. Deeper and deeper they went, eventually emerging into an underground lake surrounded by stalagmites and stalactites.

"I never know," called Harry over the rattling trolley, "what's the difference between a stalactite and stalagmite."

Professor McGonagall, a hand raised to keep her hat from flying off into the abyss, glanced down at him. "Stalactites form on the ceiling of limestone caves such as this one, while stalagmites form on the floor. Limestone caves are mainly composed of calcite, a common mineral found in sedimentary rocks. When it rains, the water droplets pick up carbon dioxide—"

Harry's head began to spin, and not because of the trolley ride. It seemed that there were indeed people within the wizarding world that knew something about science; more than he did, in any event.

When the trolley at last stopped before a small door in the passage wall, Gornuk quickly moved to unlock it. Billowing clouds of green smoke immediately came rushing out, and when it cleared, Harry was greeted by great mounds of gold, silver, and bronze—a fortune by any standard. He was only able to gape speechlessly, until Professor McGonagall snapped him from his entrancement.

"I shall help you gather the appropriate amount for your stationaries, though you may of course withdraw more, if you so desire—it is _yours_, after all, Mr. Potter."

His.

It was a difficult concept for Harry to wrap his head around. He had never had anything that truly belonged to him at Privet Drive, and now...

He took it back. If the Dursleys had known about _this_, they would have braved any creature to get their hands on it. For years he had heard them complain about how much raising him had costed them. If they had known a treasure like this existed beneath London, he really would have been broke by the time he made it to Hogwarts.

As they pilled enough gold into a bag for at least two terms, Harry's mind drifted back to Diagon Alley above. He had passed by so many amazing, impossible things. Even the more mundane shops like Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour excited him—was ice cream different in the wizarding world? He had to know!

"That should be enough—please return us to the surface," said McGonagall, and the three of them once again piled into the trolley for the long and dizzying ride back.

On the way, Harry asked Gornuk, "How many vaults are there beneath Gringotts?"

"Well over a thousand," grumbled the goblin. "Gringotts is many centuries old, and ancient and wealthy wizarding families throughout the world have entrusted their riches to it for just as long."

"Has anyone ever tried to steal from one of the vaults?"

Gornuk grinned. "Tried? Oh yes. We occasionally find the bones of thieves who thought they could do what none other has."

"Bones?" gasped Harry.

"Yes. Some become trapped within the vaults and starve to death. Others turn up in the waste of the dragons that guard certain high security vaults."

Dragons! Harry had thought he had seen a burst of flame on their ride down; but had never imagined it could have been a real, live dragon! Every time he dared to think the wizarding world couldn't surprise him any more than it already had, something would come along to completely shatter what he thought was reality.

After leaving Gringotts, Harry took a moment to allow the warmth of the sun to wash away the frigid sting that had accompanied the trolley ride. Though it was difficult to be certain, Professor McGonagall seemed rather relieved to be free of the dank caverns as well.

"Now that you have your money in hand, I would suggest we purchase your wand next," said Professor McGonagall, straightening her robes.

He could feel himself grinning ear-to-ear in response. This was what he had been waiting for these past four months! He was finally going to meet with Mr. Ollivander and be chosen by his very own wand! No more using his finger!

"I do, however, have a question for you before we proceed; do you intend to return to Privet Drive before the start of term?" asked Professor McGonagall.

Harry froze, the excitement vanishing from his face. That was the very _last_ thing he had wanted her to ask. What, exactly was he supposed to tell her? He could _lie,_ tell her that he would return after purchasing his supplies. Somehow, though, he just _knew_ she would be able to see through his attempt at deception.

"No," he said slowly. "I'm not going back, ma'am."

Professor McGonagall raised her head slightly, making her look even more formidable. "I see. The Leaky Cauldron, however, is not a suitable home for a child your age."

"Y"—Harry's voice caught in his throat—"You're not going to make me return, are you?"

"Not today," she said pointedly. "It is perhaps…best to allow your relatives some time away from you right now, but while you may remain at The Leaky Cauldron until term begins, I'm afraid you _must_ return to Privet Drive at the end of the school year."

"But _why?"_ asked Harry, incensed at the very notion of setting foot there again, after he had said what was to be his final goodbye. "If they found out I'd been learning about the wizarding world, then they'd—"

"They _know_, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, fixing him with a withering stare. "You made that abundantly clear when you ran away last night."

Harry was suddenly feeling very sick.

Right. How could they not have known? After seeing Wurbles, and Aelia in her witch's robes and hat, how could they not? Worse, the professor (and presumably the headmaster) knew about him running away and wanted to force him to return! The fact that the end of school was nearly a year away was the only thing helping him to maintain his composure right now.

"What if they don't _want_ to take me back?" asked Harry, feeling certain that his uncle would put his foot down and refuse to have a "freak" in his house, since he would presumably know how to do lots of magic by that point.

"They _will_ take you back," said Professor McGonagall with a certainty that squashed his hopes underfoot like a pathetic slug. "Though you'll need to remain at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. That was part of our agreement with them."

What had they done to get his aunt and uncle to agree to those terms? Did they turn them into various animals until they relented? As amusing as that sounded, it would likely only serve to make them even _more_ resentful towards him, if that was even possible.

"Great…" he growled under his breath, not caring if she took offense.

To Harry's surprise, however, the professor's perpetually stern expression softened. "I know it must be difficult for you, but you must trust me for now. This _is_ for the best."

He didn't respond, merely looking down at the cobblestone walkway. He wanted to shout at her, to declare that, no, he absolutely would _not_ be returning to the Dursleys. But there was no point—she could bloody well send him anywhere she wanted with a wave of her wand, most likely.

"Will you be requiring any further assistance, Mr. Potter?" she asked, folding her hands in front of her. "I can show you where to find your wand, robes, set books, and other stationaries, if you so desire."

"I…" Harry trailed off.

He didn't really feel like spending the rest of his time in Diagon Alley with the woman who planned to force him to return to the endless parade of misery that was Little Whinging. "No ma'am. I think I can manage on my own from here."

Professor McGonagall nodded, seeming completely unperturbed. "Very well, Mr. Potter."

She then reached into her emerald robes and withdrew another envelope, gently pressing it into his hands. "Your ticket for the Hogwarts Express. Come the first of September, you will make your way to platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station and board the train there. I look forward to seeing you at the start of term."

Taking a step back, Professor McGonagall seemed to focus on something far off into the distance.

A sharp crack like the one he had heard the previous night beneath the oak tree preceded the professor's body twisting out of existence before his eyes. Was _that_ what they had looked like when Wurbles had apparated with them?

It didn't matter. Any sense of wonder that he might have felt was unable to pierce the dark cloud that was now hanging over him. Before he went to purchase any more of his stationaries, he would need something to take his mind off his relatives.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the ice cream parlour he had passed earlier. While he wasn't exactly hungry just yet, he needed something to take his mind off the past few minutes.

Fortescue's ice cream thankfully proved to be every bit as good as Harry had imagined. It was so delicious, in fact, that it was almost enough to wash away the bitter taste clinging to his mouth. Seated at a small table outside the parlour, an empty glass sat in front of him, being all that remained of his chocolate sundae. While there had been nothing overtly magical about the ice cream, it was still better than any dessert he had ever eaten.

That was admittedly a rather short list, of course.

Despite his sour mood, and the knowledge that he would be once again staring at Uncle Vernon's angry, purple face before he turned twelve, he had been unable to stop himself from stealing glances at Ollivanders, which was only a short distance away.

He had been eagerly waiting to buy his first wand ever since Aelia had explained their importance to him, and even the thought of next summer wouldn't keep him from it. The shop itself was admittedly not quite what he had expected; it was rather narrow and shabby, with peeling gold letters that read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC._

He could almost believe the shop was that old, given its worn state. There was only a single wand on display in the dusty window, making for an unimpressive advertisement overall. But Harry knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

Carefully weaving his way through the crowd, Harry crossed the alley to enter Ollivanders. A bell chimed when he pushed open the door, the interior of the tiny shop being every bit as dusty and weathered as it was on the outside. There wasn't anyone at the front desk, and so Harry sat in a spindly old chair to wait.

There were long and narrow boxes neatly piled to the ceiling in just about every direction he looked, most of which would be impossible to retrieve without a levitation charm, ladder, or an unfortunate game of Jenga. If there really was a wand inside each of them, then maybe there was even one willing to choose him.

"Good evening," said a quiet voice, causing Harry to leap to his feet with a start.

An old man had appeared before him, his broad, eerily pale eyes piercing through the dusky shop with a haunting glow. _This_ was Garrick Ollivander?

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah, yes. Yes, yes. I thought I would be seeing you soon," said Mr. Ollivander with a certainty that sent a chill running up Harry's back. "Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday that she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, made of willow. Swishy. Good for charms work."

Mr. Ollivander approached him, his unblinking silver eyes fixed unnervingly to Harry's. He had never imagined Britain's most famous wandmaker would be so…creepy. That sounded mean in his head, but there wasn't really any other way he could think of to describe the old man.

"Your father, in contrast, was chosen by a mahogany wand," continued Mr. Ollivander. "Eleven inches. Pliable. Powerful and good for transfiguration. Yes, that's right, I said chosen—the wand chooses the wizard."

Mr. Ollivander was now so close that they were practically touching noses. He then reached a long, pale finger out to touch the scar on Harry's forehead. Why was he acting so strangely? Did this somehow help when it came to pairing someone with their wand?

"That scar…I'm sorry to say I sold the wand responsible," he said quietly, thankfully withdrawing his hand. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Very powerful wand, very powerful indeed. If I had only known then what it would be used for…"

He shook his head and pulled out a long stretch of measuring tape that was lined with silver markings. "Now, Mr. Potter—which is your wand arm?"

"Right," said Harry, remembering when Aelia asked the same question last month.

"Hold out your arm, then."

Mr. Ollivander began to measure him from head to toe. And shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, knee to armpit, and even shoulder to floor…Harry wasn't certain what this all was supposed to accomplish, but he didn't want to risk distracting the wandmaker with such a question.

"Every Ollivander wand sold here has a core of powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter," said Mr. Ollivander, now darting between shelves and removing small stacks of boxes. The tape measure had continued its work without him, now measuring the space between Harry's eyebrows. "Unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons are the cores we use. Every wand is unique, just as every unicorn, phoenix or dragon is unique. And, of course, you'll never find quite the same success with another's wand as you will with your own.

"That will do," said Mr. Ollivander, causing the tape measure to crumple to the floor. Setting a dusty box onto his desk, he once again captured Harry with his silvery gaze. "Right then, Mr. Potter, try this one. Walnut and phoenix tail feather. Ten and three-quarter inches. Supple. Give it a wave."

Harry took the wand. He hadn't been asked to cast any spells, and so he, rather awkwardly, waved it through the air. This was apparently enough for Mr. Ollivander, who snatched it from his hand and replaced it within its box.

"Willow and unicorn hair. Nine and a half inches. Rather bendy. Try it out."

Harry did, but the result was much the same and the wand was quickly shoved back into its box. Mr. Ollivander seemed neither surprised nor disappointed with this turn of events, merely shoving a third wand into his hands.

"Yew with a dragon heartstring core. Twelve inches. Somewhat rigid. Let's try it."

And Harry would continue to try out one wand after another, with the old spindly chair soon being filled with the boxes of wands that had seemingly been a poor match for him. For whatever reason, Mr. Ollivander seemed to only grow more ecstatic with each failure.

"Always nice to meet a tricky customer. Not to worry, there's an Ollivander wand for everyone. Now…hmm. Yes—I wonder? Could be worth a try."

Mr. Ollivander removed a box from a shelf towards the back and brushed the dust from its surface. Briefly glancing over his shoulder at Harry, he slowly removed the wand from its box. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple."

Harry could immediately feel a warmth rushing through his fingers and up his arm the moment he touched the wand. Raising it above his head, he brought it down in a quick swish and was astonished when a stream of red and golden sparks erupted from the tip. He hadn't even been trying to cast a spell!

Perhaps that was the point?

"Bravo!" sang Mr. Ollivander. "Oh, yes! Very good, indeed! How very, very, very curious."

He snatched the wand from Harry's hands and placed it back into its box. This time, he began wrapping it in brown paper. "Very curious…"

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single one. The phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand gave another, just one other," said Mr. Ollivander, his silvery gaze darting to Harry's forehead. "It is very curious indeed that this was the wand that chose you, when its brother—why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry's eyes widened, his hand reaching up to touch his forehead. "You mean—Voldemort?"

Mr. Ollivander flinched when Harry said the name, looking quite shocked to even hear it. Slowly, however, he smiled.

"I suppose _you_ wouldn't be frightened of his name, would you? No... thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen, isn't it? The wand chooses the wizard, remember…yes, I think we can expect great things from you, Mr. Potter."

Harry frowned, yet another person having predicted greatness in his future. Just because of what had happened with Voldemort, both Aelia and Mr. Ollivander seemed to expect him to become some amazing wizard. He felt like they were setting themselves up for disappointment.

Departing Ollivanders, Harry was now torn between continuing to shop for the rest of the items on his list or returning to his room to try out his new wand. If using Aelia's had made such a tremendous difference a month earlier, then how easily would he be able to perform the Levitation Charm now, with his own wand?

Deciding that he had plenty of time left before school, Harry started back towards the Leaky Cauldron. He was halfway there when he spotted the bobbing tip of a witch's hat intently pushing its way through the taller shoppers surrounding it. Squeezing through an elderly couple, Aelia beamed a smile in his direction.

He waved to his friend, holding up the brown package in his other hand.

"Good morning, Harry!" said Aelia, keeping her voice low. "Sorry for taking so long, I had trouble sleeping last night—is that your wand?"

"Yeah," he said, falling in beside her. "I just bought it."

Aelia glanced down at the package. "What are its wood and core?"

"Oh, uh…" Harry closed one eye as he recalled its description. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches."

She quirked a brow. "Oh, a phoenix feather core? Interesting! Mine has a dragon heartstring core, and is made of ebony wood, twelve and a half inches. It's a Gregorovitch—one of the last he ever sold."

'That's another wandmaker?"

"In Germany, yes," said Aelia, before abruptly stopping. "Wait a moment, the innkeeper said you were with Professor McGonagall—where is she?"

Harry, who had likewise stopped, felt his mood immediately grow sour again. "Oh, she left after taking me to Gringotts."

"Really? She didn't even go to Ollivanders with you?"

"I told her I could manage," said Harry, sighing. "I wanted to be alone after…"

Aelia's eyes narrowed when he trailed off. "After?"

"…after she said I had to return to the Dursleys," he said bitterly, staring at the cobblestone beneath his feet once again.

"Oh," Aelia frowned, seeming almost unsurprised. "She wants you to return today?"

"Not today, but at the end of the school year," he said miserably. "Professor McGonagall said it was 'for the best'."

"But that's mad," said Aelia, sighing. "If they had _any_ idea what those Muggles were truly like…"

"I think she _does_ know," said Harry, hanging his head, "and she said they were going to take me back next summer."

Aelia slowly shook her head. "I just can't understand why they would wish you to remain in such a terrible place—any wizarding family in Britain would be happy to have you!"

"They would?" asked Harry, looking up.

"Of course they would! You're"—she lowered her voice—"The-Boy-Who-Lived! And this is all very wrong…"

Harry exhaled, forcing a smile. "I'm sorry for complaining so much. It'll just be for the summer, so I'm sure it won't be _that_ bad. I'll be an actual wizard by then, so I might even be able to have a bit of fun with them."

Her frown deepened for a quiet second, the crowd gently nudging them to and fro. As the Leaky Cauldron loomed in the distance, she abruptly turned to fully face him. "You're _already_ a wizard, Harry, and I think it's time you start _looking_ like one!"

"Huh?" He looked up; she was staring at him expectantly. "What do you mean?"

"You've been wearing those old Muggle clothes for more than long enough, wouldn't you agree?" Aelia grinned, gesturing for him to follow her back down the alley.

Harry's shoulders fell. "Aelia, I don't really feel like going shopping right now."

"Oh, please!" She said, clasping her hands together. "Give it a try—just _one_ shop. It won't take long!"

"I…" he trailed off. He _had_ wanted to practice magic to take his mind off everything, but maybe if he did this one thing for her, she would help him learn a spell to counteract the looming dread hanging over his head. "Alright, fine. One shop."

Her excitement returning, they retreated from the Leaky Cauldron. Harry quietly trailed behind her, having expected their destination to be Madam Malkin's, which he had already passed twice before. Instead, they arrived at a clothing shop named "Twilfitt and Tattings". He could see numerous expensive-looking materials neatly folded on a shelf through the window, with several open boxes of shoes displayed beneath them. Inside, an array of hats rested atop simple wooden stands, while a middle-aged witch busied herself stitching together a strip of fabric in the back.

"This is my favourite clothing shop," said Aelia, pushing through the door. "It's expensive, but worth it."

As if being summoned by the word "expensive", the witch looked up from her fabric and smiled. "Ms. Yaxley, welcome back! What can I help you with today?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Blishwick," said Aelia, returning her smile. "I'm here to help my friend find some nice day robes for himself. It's his first time here."

Stepping around the counter, Mrs. Blishwick approached the two of them, her periwinkle eyes widening when she took in Harry. "Oh. Oh, my…"

Tracing her gaze down to his baggy shirt and trousers, Harry suddenly remembered how out of place he was in comparison to everyone else in Diagon Alley. Even with his cloak, he was an odd sight.

"I know, but he's been through a lot," said Aelia, lowering her voice to a whisper, "this is Harry Potter."

Mrs. Blishwick's face instantly flushed red. She glanced between him and Aelia and, as if disbelieving the girl's claim, reached out a long finger to brush his fringe aside. "…By Merlin, it's true! W-welcome, Mr. Potter! Oh, it's _such_ an honour to have you in my shop!"

She grasped his hand with both of hers, shaking it eagerly. Harry could only smile awkwardly. Aelia really hadn't been exaggerating when she said he was famous—this was exactly how he had always imagined celebrities were treated.

"Come, right this way; I'm sure we'll find the perfect match for you!"

She led Harry through a velvet curtain off to the side while Aelia remained in the main part of the shop. Standing him on a stool, she retrieved several different shades of fabric from a nearby shelf. There was a bounce in her every step as she returned.

"Now, we want to really bring out those vivid green eyes of yours, don't we?" said Mrs. Blishwick. "I think sage would be the most obvious choice, but maybe lavender would better accentuate their vibrance. What do you think?"

"I—"

"_Of course!"_ She snapped her fingers. "I have it: _burgundy!_ Yes, it will make for a marvellous contrast."

Harry could only stand there in silence while she whipped out a tape measure and began taking his exact measurements. Just how many times was this going to happen to him today? At least she didn't seem to care how wide his nostrils were.

Much like Mr. Ollivander, she left her tape measure to it while she began knitting several sheets of burgundy fabric together with her wand, the silvery pins twinkling beneath the gaslights that illuminated the shop. While the whole process seemed a lot quicker than Muggle sewing, it still took her what felt like half an hour to finish, by which point his legs were threatening to cramp.

Slipping the long robe over his head, she cupped her chin in thought. "Mm. A bit loose around the chest and shoulders."

While he shifted uncomfortably on the stool, she began to make what he hoped were the final adjustments to his new clothes. After another fifteen minutes passed, she finally removed the pins lining the robes with flourish of her wand.

"There! Splendid work, if I do say so myself!" Mrs. Blishwick helped him down from the stool, leading him back through the curtain.

Aelia, who had been trying on hats in the mirror, clapped her hands excitedly. "Harry! You're looking _brilliant!"_

"I am?" asked Harry, glancing at himself in the mirror.

His jaw fell open. He really _did_ look like a wizard now! A far less silly one than he had imagined in his fantasies. The dark burgundy robes fit much better than anything he had ever been given by the Dursleys, the limbs being precisely the right length and the chest not being several times too large. It was a strange feeling, to wear clothes made just for him—but certainly not an unwelcomed one.

"They might get a bit stuffy if you wear your Muggle clothes beneath them during the summer," said Aelia, "but it's an absolutely _perfect_ look for you! You just need a hat."

"Yes, and I have _just_ the one," said Mrs. Blishwick, removing a burgundy hat from a stand and placing it over Harry's head. It fell nearly past his nose. Clicking her tongue, she pointed her wand at the hat. "Right, a little _reducio_ should fix that!"

The hat shrunk a couple of sizes, until it rested firmly atop his head. It was rather startling, seeing himself dressed in a way that would have surely made his uncle want to throttle him if he saw it. He felt like he had just taken a small step towards fitting into the wizarding world.

"You see, Harry?" Aelia stepped beside him. "You're one of us, and that's something the Dursleys can _never_ take away from you, no matter where you are."

Harry smiled, feeling his sombre mood begin to fade. Being done up like this made him feel like exploring more of Diagon Alley again. "Thanks, Aelia…you're right. I think I'll go and buy some of my school equipment after all."

When he left the shop, Harry immediately felt himself blend in seamlessly with the crowd. He really did feel like he belonged here now.

By the time they returned to his room, Harry had purchased his cauldron, some quills, parchment, a brass scale, and most of his set book books. He had wanted to buy a golden cauldron, but Aelia had persuaded him to stick to the listed pewter.

"Don't do it, Harry! That's _so_ nouveau riche!"

Thankfully, she had been all too happy to support his buying of _Curses and Counter Curses_.

"There's all sorts of spells here I could use on Dudley," Harry had noted.

"_Now_ you're thinking like a proper Slytherin," said Aelia approvingly. "Just remember to not get caught—using magic against Muggles _is_ illegal."

The early evening sun now cast its warm glow through the still open window of room eight, his equipment stacked neatly off in a corner. Harry had removed his wand from its box and was practicing with it in the mirror. Flicking and swishing to create streams of red and gold sparks just like in Ollivanders, he shamelessly grinned like a toddler in a sweet shop.

Hearing the door open, Harry turned to see that Aelia had returned from the toilet. Smiling at the still fading spots of light on the wall, she folded her arms. "Having fun?"

"Yeah," he said, still grinning. "I was about to try out the Levitation Charm."

"Oh?" Aelia raised her brows. "I'm glad you waited, then! I wanted to see if you could levitate your cauldron!"

He winced reflexively, shooting a glance over to the cauldron resting in the corner of his room. It had to weigh at least nine kilos! "Isn't that a bit much, Aelia? I have trouble picking that up with my _hands!"_

"The whole point of the Levitation Charm is that it lets us lift things we normally couldn't," said Aelia. "You've been able to levitate that quill lately with just your finger, so have a bit of confidence!"

Harry had considered trying to levitate his brass scale to be plenty confident enough. The cauldron would make an awful racket if it struck the floor and might even break. "I just bought it. If you really want me to try, then you have to be ready to stop it if it falls!"

"It's a deal," said Aelia, smirking. Withdrawing her wand from inside her robes, she aimed it at the cauldron before shooting him an expectant glance.

Inhaling, Harry danced his wand through the air with a well-practiced grace. _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The cauldron responded immediately, lifting off the floor and slowly rotating its way through the air as directed by his wand. Brows furrowed; Harry gave the black pot his unwavering focus in its journey to the table at the opposite end of the room.

A hiss broke the tense silence when he sucked in air through his teeth, the cauldron having faltering at the halfway point, dipping precariously close to the floor. Aelia kept her wand trained on it but had yet to act. With a slow and steadying breath, Harry righted the cauldron and brought it to a gentle rest on the table.

"Well done, Harry!" said Aelia, putting her wand away. "I knew you could do it!"

Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, Harry sighed. "Yeah, but it wasn't easy."

"If it was, then you wouldn't be learning anything! Professor Nandoro says that 'only through adversity does the flower of magic truly bloom within us'!"

"With such a harsh teacher, I'm amazed you're so uppish," said Harry.

Aelia pursed her lips. "Are you _certain_ you don't wish to go back to Privet Drive today?"

Grinning, he glanced down at his wand. "Maybe I should try turning a match into a needle, next?"

"You can already manage that _without_ a wand, can't you? You ought to try transfiguring something more distinct," said Aelia, her dark blue eyes searching the room for but a moment before she called a roll of parchment to her hand. "This!"

Harry stared at the parchment as it was placed on the table beside the cauldron. Compared to the risk inherit in his last test, this felt far less intimidating.

Closing to his eyes, he thought back to the feeling of his Hogwarts letter when he first held it in his hands. That unique, rough feel that was so different than the paper he was used to. He remembered its crisp smell, and the crinkle it made as he opened it.

He then thought of the needle, its metallic feel and scent, the prick of its tip against his finger. This came far more easily, for he had practiced it many times. Finally, he imagined the parchment gradually changing into the needle until it became clear in his mind.

Opening his eyes, Harry firmly jabbed his wand at the parchment and said, _"Conmutocus!"_

Just as it had been in his mind's eye, the roll of parchment grew thin and immediately gleamed silver beneath the light. The hole in the centre quickly vanished as the parchment shrank into a more or less picturesque sewing needle.

"Brilliant!" said Aelia, clapping her hands excitedly. "That was perfect! You've mastered two _very_ important spells when it comes to learning magic."

Harry smiled, somewhat awkwardly stashing his wand into his robes like Aelia had earlier. "Thanks. Is it really that impressive to take four months to learn just two spells?"

"Wandlessly, at our age? Oh yes!" Aelia nodded firmly. "And those two spells teach you the fundamentals of Charms and Transfiguration. Mastering them under such difficult conditions should make learning most other spells much easier from here on!"

Though he hoped that she was correct, Harry once again felt as if she was overestimating him. Her and Mr. Ollivander. He wasn't a great wizard, nor could he imagine himself becoming one, outside his wildest of fantasies.

Still, he _had_ mastered two spells before school had even started, so maybe it was alright to feel a little proud of himself, just this once.

* * *

Hi! I hope you enjoyed reading chapter VI! We're back on our usual schedule now! Oh, and before I forget, I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas! ^^

Now, for the reviews!

**DS2010 writes,** _"Now that was a great escape. Loved the name Cornfoot as a cover for Harry or is it Henry (LOL)"_

**My response:** Thanks! I really enjoyed writing that scene, because I had always wondered how the Dursleys might react if Harry actually ran away from Privet Drive! And I also was happy I had the chance to slip the name Cornfoot into the story. It's actually a canonical wizarding name, apparently, which I thought was quite funny!

**Son of Whitebeard writes,** _"Wurbles is a dedicated house-elf"_

**My response:** Yes! Wurbles has a very good relationship with Aelia, who is quite kind to him. House Elves respond to loving treatment with utter devotion, as shown by Kreacher with Regulus Black!

**Guest writes,** _"Great job glad Harry will get support and go to Dugan ally early can't wait to next time"_

**My response: **While he's only making it to Diagon Alley a few days earlier than in canon, the means by which he does so have made things take quite a distinct turn I think! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! We're not quite finished with Diagon Alley, after all!

Well, that's all for now everyone! I'll see you again in two weeks - that's December 31st, New Years Eve!


	7. Chapter VII: A Very Hairy Birthday

**Chapter VII**

**A Very Hairy Birthday**

"_**F**__lipendo!"_ said Harry, his wand jerking sharply through the air to settle on the wooden chair in front of him.

It rattled violently for a few seconds before falling pathetically onto its side.

"Well, that's not right," he grumbled.

It was supposed to be knocked across the room, not flop over. He was certain he had pronounced the incantation correctly, and he had a clear mental picture of the chair flying into the wall. Maybe his wand movements had been too rigid?

Setting the chair upright, Harry glanced down at his copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble.

"A steady, fluid motion," he read, slowly snaking his wand through the air while studying the illustrated hand movements for the Knockback Jinx.

It had been nearly a week since he had escaped from Privet Drive, and already he was starting to feel like a different person. No longer did he have to wake up early to fix breakfast for the Dursleys. Gone were Dudley and his gang. He was able to eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He even had clothes that fit!

But there was one part of his old life that he wasn't about to forget, because he was usually the only one that ever cared to celebrate it—his birthday. He was officially eleven years old today, and for wizards especially, that was a very important occasion.

"_Flipendo!"_ he said, keeping a steady hand as his wand travelled the invisible path in his mind's eye. With a jarring crack, the chair was launched through the air and smashed itself against the wall, the splintered pieces clattering to the ground.

Harry cringed at his own handiwork, now feeling rather foolish. How else had he expected it to go?

There was a frantic knocking at the door, causing his blood to chill. He'd done it now—he was probably going to be thrown out of his room for that. Reluctantly, he approached the door and opened it to see not the innkeeper, but a very concerned-looking Aelia on the other side.

"Harry? Are you alright? I heard a dreadful crash from the stairs!"

Exhaling in relief, he stepped aside to allow her entry. She was carrying a black leather briefcase, oddly enough. "I was practicing the Knockback Jinx and…well, it worked a little too well."

Aelia glanced down at the shattered remnants of the simple wooden chair, and then smiled. "It must have been an impressive jinx to smash it into so many pieces!"

"I doubt the innkeeper will be too impressed."

Aelia drew her wand. "I agree—_Reparo!"_

Harry watched as the chips and splinters leaped into the air and spun together in a blurred whirlwind of wood, the chair quickly emerging from the chaos whole and intact.

"I've _really_ got to learn that spell," he said.

"It _is_ rather useful. But never mind that—Happy Birthday!" said Aelia, setting her briefcase on the table. It looked quite like the one Uncle Vernon carried to work each morning.

He was about to ask what was inside when the sound of the floorboards creaking from the hall caused them both to spin towards the still open door. The innkeeper, Tom, was standing just outside. His bald head turned in confusion as he surveyed the room. "I heard a loud crash; is everything here alright?"

"Oh, yes!" said Aelia, laughing. "It's Henry's birthday, you see. We were just setting off some party favours, that's all!"

Glancing over to "Henry", he offered him a gummy smile. "Oh, happy birthday, Mr. Cornfoot!"

"Thank you!" said Harry, returning his smile.

Tom then squinted, the corners of his eyes creasing with the effort. "First time I've seen your face clearly. Something about you looks...no. Good lord, it couldn't be…?"

Aelia opened her mouth, but Harry spoke first. "Oh, yeah...a lot of people tell me I look like Harry Potter. They feel let down when I don't have the scar."

He lifted the right two-thirds of his fringe to show his bare forehead. Tom, whose face had flushed with colour, did indeed look quite disappointed when he realized that there was seemingly no lightning bolt-shaped scar to be seen.

"…Well, a better face you couldn't hope to have! I wish you the best of days," said Tom, bowing and closing the door behind him.

Listening as the innkeeper descended the stairs, Aelia slowly turned to Harry with a look of proud astonishment. "That was _brilliant!_ When did you become so deceitful?"

"Bad influence, I guess," he mumbled. "What's in the briefcase?"

"Your cake and other gifts."

"You brought me a cake?" asked Harry, turning red. "And _gifts?_ You didn't have to do that!"

"Well, they wouldn't be much in the way of gifts if I _did_ have to," said Aelia.

Clicking open the relatively thin briefcase, Aelia levitated a half-foot tall cake up from inside it before easing it down onto the table. Green and red icing flowers lined the edges, while white icing covered the rest. Blue lettering read, "Happy 11th Birthday Harry!".

His mouth agape, he slowly approached the briefcase. "How…?"

"Oh, that has an Extension Charm on it," she explained. "You can buy them in some of the shops here."

"Brilliant…"

Aelia adopted an expression of mock disappointment. "You seem more impressed by the briefcase than your cake. It took me _weeks_ to learn how to do the icing."

"That's not true!" said Harry, bolting upright. "I _really_ appreciate you baking a cake for me, I've never had one before!"

"Yes, I thought that might be the case," she said, shaking her head. "At this point, I would almost expect those Muggles to buy you a birthday cake for their son to eat _in front_ of you."

"Careful, they might like that suggestion," said Harry.

Swiping her hand across the still open briefcase, a quartet of uniquely coloured robes emerged and drifted their way to his bed, each being accompanied by a matching hat. "You seem to enjoy wearing robes, so now you have five sets in all!'

"T-thank you," he stammered for the fourth time in a row as she removed the last of his new robes. He had received clothes before, but they had always been Dudley's old hand-me-downs, or one of his uncle's socks.

"I thought about trying to get you a broom for next year," she continued, "but I decided to wait, since they've been coming out with new models so often lately. I wouldn't want it to be obsolete before you were even able to fly it, and I can probably only trick my father into buying you one."

"That's alright," he said, "I wouldn't want you to spend any more money on me than you already have."

Aelia scoffed. "Well, too bad! We still must find you a pet, after all!"

"What? Aelia—"

"It's _fine_, Harry. I rarely ever buy anything, and so I've a fair bit of allowance saved up."

He shifted on his feet awkwardly, still feeling as if it was all a bit much. He didn't want to appear to be ungrateful, however, and he _did_ want an owl.

Last out of the suitcase was a pair of plates, which landed on the table. Taking that as a sign that it was time to cut his cake, he eagerly claimed a seat in the newly repaired chair. When he tasted his first ever piece of birthday cake, he almost shivered with delight. He couldn't believe he had been missing this for eleven whole years!

Aelia joined him in having a piece, her eyes occasionally darting to him whenever he would take a bite. "Wurbles offered to make it himself, and I'm sure he would have done a better job, but I…"

"It's really good!" he said quickly. "The best birthday cake I've ever had!"

Aelia smiled, setting her fork down onto her empty plate. "You know, I've been thinking more on it this past week, and I don't believe that Professor McGonagall has the authority to force you to go back to Privet Drive."

Harry almost choked on his last piece of cake, pounding at his chest as he fought to respond. "R-r-really? H-how do you know?"

"Because, while Hogwarts _is_ very important, it's still just a school," said Aelia firmly. "The teachers—and even the headmaster—have no say in where students live outside the castle. That would be the responsibility of the Being Division."

"The what?"

"It's a division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," explained Aelia. "The safety of wizards and witches, as beings, would fall under it."

The Ministry of Magic seemed far more complicated than Harry had first suspected. It was not only divided into departments, but these were apparently further split into _divisions._ It all made his head hurt.

"So…I _don't_ have to go back to the Dursleys?" he asked, trying to focus on the important part of what she said. "Where will I go, then?"

"I'm not certain, but I promise to speak with my father about it before then," said Aelia. "So, don't worry! It would be _terrible_ form to make you return there after such a daring escape, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry nodded quickly. "I would! Thanks, Aelia. I really appreciate everything you've done for me!"

"Yes, I _am_ rather amazing, aren't I?" She smirked. "On that note, if you've had your fill of cake, how about we go and purchase your pet?"

Standing, Harry grinned. "Sure."

"Any idea what sort of pet you might want?"

"An owl," said Harry. "I want to be able to send letters on my own."

Leading him out the back of the Leaky Cauldron, Aelia tapped the brick wall three times with her wand to open the entrance to Diagon Alley. "Then we shall visit Eeylops Owl Emporium. Other places sell owls as well, but they've the best selection."

"I keep passing it, but I've never gotten around to going inside," said Harry, anticipation building in the pit of his stomach.

Diagon Alley was busier than ever, perhaps due to it being the last day to send one's reply to Hogwarts. Flourish and Blotts, Madam Malkins, and several other school-related shops were completely packed with wizarding families, one of which he could see exiting Eeylops with a rather large cage in hand.

Upon stepping through the door, the first thing that struck Harry was how dark and cramped it was. Smacking into one of the cages with his shoulder, he winced when the small owl inside began to shriek and beat its wings in protest. Dozens of twin moons gleamed from every corner of the shop, inquisitive hoots seamlessly blending with the squeaking of the swinging cages.

Aelia raised the brim of her hat as she fell in beside him, her eyes squinting. "This shop could stand to have a few lanterns."

"Yeah," said Harry, cautiously moving through the narrow walking space provided by the cages. Each step caused one of the rickety floorboards to groan in protest.

There must have been at least a hundred owls packed into the relatively modest shop. Screech owls, brown owls, barn owls, tawny owls, scops owls, snowy owls, and barred owls all vied for their attention, seeming to chafe under the cramped conditions they were forced to live under.

"Welcome," croaked a gravelled voice, somehow rising above the chorus of hoots and screeches. An old man in black robes seemed to materialize from behind the front desk, his pale face like a lamp in the surrounding darkness as he approached them. "Come to purchase yourselves a pet for Hogwarts, I take it?"

Aelia nodded in Harry's direction. "He has. It's his eleventh birthday today."

Running a hand through his thinning grey hair, the shop owner eyed Harry thoughtfully. "Then he has made a wise decision in choosing Eeylops Owl Emporium."

The old man swept a wrinkled hand across the store. "As you can see, we've all manner of owls—and each one is fully trained and capable of delivering post to any location within the British Isles or beyond. Obviously, larger owls will be capable of carrying larger packages in turn, but smaller owls, such as the scops owl, are often quicker in the delivery of common letters. Ultimately, it is up to each individual witch or wizard to decide what they are looking for in a companion. There is something here for everyone, however, provided you have a love for owls."

Harry glanced between the rows of cages surrounding him from every angle. It seemed an impossible task to visit all of them. In some ways, it reminded him of being at Ollivander's, except this shop owner appeared content to allow him to browse freely.

Every pair of large, round eyes in the shop was now on him, each flashing with a hunger to be freed from their cages. He felt bad for them, but he would have a difficult enough time handling even one owl, he was certain.

The tiny, silver owl he had bumped into earlier was now eagerly darting about its cage, desperate to regain his attention. Harry approached it and leaned over, watching it perform a quick series of vertical loops about its perch as if to impress him. It was far too hyperactive, however, and seemed like it would be a terribly needy pet.

The next cage he approached contained a brown and white barred owl. It hooted in acknowledgement, but otherwise remained stationary. Its face and demeanour made Harry think of an old man—it looked almost tired.

Moving on to another cage, he watched the screech owl inside tilt its body back to glare up at him expectedly. The horn-like feathery tufts above its sallow eyes gave it a perpetually angry look. It would probably be just a little scary to wake up and see it staring down at him in the middle of the night.

A flash of white then caught his eye. Turning reflexively, he saw it—like a beacon of light amid an ocean of darkness. A beautiful snowy owl was sitting quietly near the back of the Emporium. Its white feathers were speckled with dark spots, the eyes relatively small and narrow compared to many of the others. It hooted at his approach, it's head tilting to the side.

"Hello," said Harry, smiling. "You're very pretty."

The snowy owl puffed its chest slightly at the compliment, hooting again.

"What's your name?"

"She doesn't have one," said the shop owner, almost startling Harry as he stepped to his side. "It will be your first duty as her owner to give her one, should this be the owl you wish to purchase."

Harry turned back to her, threading his fingers through the bars of the cage. "How about it? Would you like to come with me?"

The owl leaned forward and gave his finger a gentle nibble, hooting softly.

"I believe that's a yes," said Aelia, grinning to the shop owner. Reaching into her robes, she retrieved a small black purse and from it counted out the appropriate number of coins.

The old man hungrily snatched the galleon's from Aelia's hand, and quickly moved to press the large cage into Harry's arms, along with the key to open it. "Thank you for your business—I hope your new pet serves you well."

For their entire journey back to his room at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry would watch his new pet slumber in silent awe. Her head was tucked beneath her wing, the owl seemingly content to rest now that she was free from the shop.

Once they had returned to his room, Harry hung her cage by the window, keeping it open so that she would be able to go hunt at night, as he recalled that owls were nocturnal from his studies at school. He would still need to come up with a name for her, but that could wait until she was awake later that night.

"Now you truly are ready for Hogwarts," said Aelia, resting her hands on her hips. "I hope you've had a happy birthday?"

"Happy?" Harry spun to face her. "It was the best birthday I've ever had!"

Of course, the competition wasn't exactly stiff—last year the Dursleys gave him a coat hanger.

"Then I'm happy as well!" Aelia smiled. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Harry started to shake his head before pausing. "…Actually, if it's not too much trouble—"

BOOM.

Harry froze midsentence, the entire room shuddering. Yelping in fright, Aelia quickly backed up against the wall. Another thunderous knock rattled the window in its seal and startled his owl awake. Exchanging looks with his friend, he slowly asked, "Who is it?"

There was a brief pause.

"Rubeus Hagrid," said a deep voice from behind the door, "Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

Recognition dawned on Aelia's face and she immediately seized Harry by the sleeve of his robes, pulling him away from the door.

"I've heard of him!" she hissed into his ear. "He's a towering mass of hair who keeps all sorts of violent beasts for pets! B-but…why is he _here?"_

The room shook yet again when Rubeus Hagrid pounded on the door a third time, almost knocking it from its hinges. Harry could feel the blood draining from his face. Why would somebody like that being beating on his door, on his _birthday_ of all days?

"Merlin's beard, are you trying to frighten the boy to death?" another, much quieter voice said. "I told you to let _me_ knock."

Rubeus Hagrid rattled out a low chuckle. "Sorry about tha', Professor Black. Got a bit ahead 'o meself there."

Once again, Aelia's eyes flashed with recognition. "…Professor Black?"

"Aelia?" said the gentler voice, and the knob turned.

When the door swung open, Harry was greeted to the sight of a man who stood _at least_ twice the height of his Uncle Vernon. His face was almost entirely hidden by his long, shaggy hair and wild tangle of a beard, a pair of gleaming black eyes the only thing clearly visible beneath it all.

The beard then parted to reveal a set of gleaming teeth. "Happy birthday, Harry!"

"Oh, thank…you…" said Harry, still taken aback by the size of Rubeus Hagrid, who had to kneel beneath the doorframe to enter. Each of his powerful footsteps caused the floorboards to creak beneath his weight.

Entering the room behind him was a wizard dressed in pristine charcoal-grey robes. Though he appeared diminutive when placed next to the groundskeeper, he nevertheless stood at a respectable height, his frame lithe and skin pale. His neatly trimmed black hair expertly framed his handsome face, his features sharp and pronounced.

"Yes, indeed, happy birthday, Mr. Potter," said the man, his smoky-grey eyes settling upon Harry. "I am Professor Regulus Black, an…old associate of your parents."

Harry's heart leaped, and he immediately took several steps towards Professor Black without thinking. "Y-you knew my parents?"

"Oh yes, we both did," said Professor Black, glancing to the giant beside him. "It's why we've brought you a cake, among other things."

Rubeus Hagrid glanced down at the cake on the table, and he chuckled. "Already have one, do yeh? Well, yer scraggly enough that another won' hurt yeh." From inside his black overcoat he pulled a box and set it on the table.

Inside was yet another cake, this one chocolate with green lettering. Harry could have scarcely imagined ever receiving _one_ birthday cake a week ago, much less _two._ Staring up at the adults, he cautiously smiled. "Thank you, Professor Black, Mr…Hagrid?"

"Jus' Hagrid's fine," he said, sitting down on the end of Harry's bed, which released a rather pathetic groan. "Got summat ter drink? A cup 'o tea, maybe?"

Harry's hesitation seemed to tell the giant "no", for he immediately turned to the fireplace, his great frame masking his actions. The result, however, soon became apparent—a roaring fire now bathed the room in its warming glow. Producing a kettle, teapot, and a couple of chipped mugs from his coat, he set to work brewing the tea.

"Oh, for the love of Paracelsus, you don't just start brewing tea in someone's room without permission!" snapped Professor Black, pinching the bridge of his nose. He cast an apologetic glance to Harry, before his eyes settled on Aelia, who had been doing her best to hide away in the far corner. "And you – _you're_ the 'little friend' that encouraged Mr. Potter to take up residence here? I dread to imagine what your father might think should he find out."

The colour drained from Aelia's face, and she forced herself to take a step forward. "P-please don't tell him, Professor! I'll do anything!"

"Begging, Aelia? For shame – where is your pride?" said Professor Black, crossing his arms. "I've no interest in exposing your childish nonsense. Though if you continue to behave in such a thoughtless manner at Hogwarts, then _that_ will be another matter entirely."

Aelia breathed a sigh of relief, looking as if she might sink to the floor. "Thank you, Professor, I won't!"

"I should hope not," he continued, "such unsubtle and reckless behaviour reeks of Gryffindor. I expect better of you, if you still intend to join _my_ House."

Professor Black and Aelia seemed to know one another, and Harry wasn't overly eager to step between them. Instead, he turned his attention back to Rubeus Hagrid, who had just finished pouring himself a cup of tea. "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

Gulping down his tea, he grinned broadly. "Like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts, an' Professor Black there teaches History of Magic."

"Oh. Did the school send you?" asked Harry. "Professor McGonagall already gave me my vault key and train ticket."

"Tha' was official Hogwarts business. We're comin' here of our own accord; haven' seen yeh since yeh was but _this_ big," said Hagrid, holding up a very large thumb and finger that a real baby could have easily fit between. "Pulled yeh from the ruins o' yer parent's house meself. Terrible, wha' happened…"

That's right, Professor Black had said they knew his parents! "How did you meet them? M-my parents?"

"Well, I met 'em when they started at Hogwarts, o' course, about when they was yer age, an' a finer wizard an' witch yeh couldn' find. Head Boy an' Girl, in their day!" said Hagrid proudly. "Reckon yeh'll be too, once yeh've been trained up a bit."

Pouring himself another cup of tea, Hagrid gulped it down just as quickly as the first, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Right, almos' forgot; we got yeh summat fer yer birthday. Figured yeh already had an animal, since yeh've been here a while."

"Oh yes, that's right!" said Professor Black, finally turning away from Aelia. "That's quite a lovely owl, by the way! An excellent choice."

Harry glanced to his owl, who still looked slightly ruffled from being jarred from her sleep. "Thank you, but really, it's not necessary to give me anything!"

"I know it's not," said Hagrid, smiling.

"But we wish to do so regardless," said Professor Black. Reaching into his robes, he removed a black case. "The contents of this box once belonged to your father, when he attended Hogwarts."

"M-my father?" Harry accepted the gift with trembling hands. Something was rattling about inside the case thanks to his unsteady grip. Setting it on the table, he slowly removed the top to reveal a pair of handheld mirrors.

"They're called 'two-way mirrors'," explained Professor Black. "You merely need to look into one and say the name of the individual you wish to speak with. If they have a mirror of their own, you'll be able to communicate with them."

Dead useful," added Hagrid. "Shame that more people don' have one. Yer dad would use his durin' detention ter talk to—"

Professor Black shot him an icy glare.

Hagrid went silent, shifting uneasily on the bed, which seemed equally uncomfortable judging by its pained creaks.

"—to his friend," Hagrid finished. Giving Harry a wry smile, he gestured to the case. "Professor Black held on to 'em all these years for yeh."

Harry lifted one from the case, holding it in silence. The mirror did not reflect his face, merely showing the ceiling above. It took him several moments to realize that he was seeing the ceiling from the view of the mirror still laying inside the case.

This had belonged to his father. He was holding something his father had likely held many times before. It was almost like being able to touch him, in a way.

"Thank you," said Harry in barely more than a whisper, his eyes still transfixed on his gift.

"You're most welcome," said Professor Black, smiling.

Hagrid chuckled. "Don' yeh worry yerself over it, Harry. Now, I heard yeh ran away from them Dursleys."

Harry finally looked up from the mirror, frowning. Did everybody at Hogwarts know about that? He desperately hoped they weren't about to insist that he return home as well. They could at least wait till it wasn't his birthday.

"I'm not tryin' ter make a fuss, now," said Hagrid, holding up his massive hands. "Jus' that it's dangerous fer yeh to be wanderin' about alone, bein' who yeh are. Might be some o' Y_ou-Know-Who's_ old followers still out fer revenge."

"I wasn't alone, though," said Harry, glancing to Aelia. "And if I hadn't left, I would have _never_ been allowed to go to Hogwarts."

Professor Black frowned, his fierce eyes settling over Aelia, who seemed to almost wilt beneath his gaze. "Yet she is merely a child, one who is too clever by half, and not nearly as powerful as she fancies herself to be. If one of the Dark Lord's followers had come for you, her desperately flailing wand would have done little to protect you."

Aelia's cheeks flushed red, her eyes falling to the ground. "You…you don't understand. Those Muggles…they were simply awful! They hadn't even told Harry about Hogwarts!"

"What?" gasped Hagrid, looking startled. "Yer sayin' he didn't know till he met yeh? Blimey, Harry, where did yeh think yer mum an' dad learned it all?"

"They didn't tell me I was a wizard, either," explained Harry, sighing. "I thought my parents died in a car crash."

"C…" Hagrid's dark, beetle-like eyes doubled in size as he shot to his feet with a fury that saw both Aelia _and_ Harry taking a step back. "CAR CRASH? Lilly an' James Potter, killed by a mere _car crash?_ An'…an' not even knowin' yer a wizard…I had no idea things were this bad fer yeh, Harry, or I woulda stepped in long ago!"

"It's fine, really!" said Harry. "I'm here now."

"Fine? Fine fer yeh to have grown up not knowin' yer own story, when near ev'ry kid in our world does? Them Dursleys have a lot ter answer fer!"

"I met his uncle, briefly—he appeared to be completely mad," said Aelia.

"He'd have ter be, if he thought he'd keep Lilly an' James son from Hogwarts! Why, I've a mind ter…"

It was nice that they'd found a topic to bond over, Harry thought. Professor Black seemed equally amused by their exchange, seeming content to silently listen for now.

"Their enormous butterball of a son endlessly tormented Harry at school, which none of the Muggle teachers cared to stop," continued Aelia. It sounded like she had wanted to rant at someone like this for a while now.

Hagrid grunted. "What with parents like them, how else was he goin' ter turn out? An' can' say I'd bet me safety on the eyes o' Muggles."

Their conversation continued as the day wore on. Despite Aelia's initial fear, she appeared to have greatly warmed up to the giant of a man.

"Hagrid, you mentioned earlier that you were the groundskeeper," said Aelia, a piece of chocolate cake resting on her fork. "Does that cover the Forbidden Forest?"

"'O'course," said Hagrid, flecks of white icing in his beard. "Been watchin' it fer soon ter be thir'y years now."

"What sorts of creatures live there?"

"Oh, all sorts. Hippogriffs, unicorns, thestrals, deer, foxes…the Weasley twins!" He chuckled.

"You keep Weasleys in the Forbidden Forest?" Aelia offered a confused smile. "I'm not saying that's a bad idea, mind you."

"Keep 'em in? I've been tryin' ter keep 'em _out_ fer what feels like half me life! Them two's always sneakin' in, up ter no good."

Harry had, in the meantime, allowed himself to bombard Professor Black with questions about Hogwarts. Despite the rather cold demeanour he had displayed towards Aelia, he seemed quite happy—eager, even—to answer his questions.

"You're the Head of Slytherin House _and_ the Professor of Magical History? Do all the Heads teach a subject at Hogwarts?"

Professor Black nodded, picking a stray hair off his sleeve and flicking it to the floor. "Yes, that's right. Specifically, one of the eight core subjects. There are elective subjects for the older students as well, but you needn't concern yourself with those just yet."

"Who are the other Heads?" Harry asked, eager to know more about the school he would be spending most of his next seven years at.

"You've already met one other—Professor McGonagall is the head of Gryffindor House. Filius Flitwick heads Ravenclaw, while Pomona Sprout leads Hufflepuff," he explained, a sly smirk slithering across his face. "I think you would do best in my House, of course. Just looking at you now, I can tell that you will become quite the great and powerful wizard in time."

Harry felt his cheeks redden, and he glanced out the window. Why did people keep saying that? It was starting to really bother him. If he ended up not being a "great and powerful wizard", would they all be upset with him for failing to meet their high expectations?

That thought made him want to throw up in his mouth a little.

An orange hue now bathed the room from outside, the rays of the setting sun gleaming over the rooves of the numerous shops outside. Harry had been so engrossed in his conversation with the Professor that he had barely noticed the hours slipping past them.

"It appears to be getting late," noted Professor Black. "I should be returning home before my dear wife begins to worry."

Hagrid grunted his agreement. "I'd best be makin' me way back ter Hogwarts as well, lots o' important things ter do before term starts."

Aelia stood, smiling to them both. "Thank you for taking the time to visit Harry!"

"Yeah, I really do appreciate you giving me my father's mirrors," said Harry. "And the cake too—it really means a lot!"

Professor Black offered Harry a dip of his head. "Of course. It was our pleasure. From what I hear, you were long overdo for a truly happy birthday."

Harry grinned. "I guess I'll see you both at Hogwarts, then?"

"Yeh'll see me righ' when yeh get off the train, yeh will!" Hagrid placed a thick hand on the doorframe, kneeling beneath it. "Jus' wait till yeh see her—Hogwarts. Words can't do her service. Now, g'night to yeh both, an' happy birthday again, Harry!"

"I'll likely be taking the train to school with my daughter," said Professor Black. "Feel free to visit our carriage."

Aelia stood from her chair as the pair slipped into the hallway, standing next to Harry as they both waved.

They were able to hear the angry protests of the floorboards all the way down the stairs.

* * *

Hey everyone! So even with the delay, I ended up posting it a few hours later than usual! Sorry about that, I had a dental appointment today! But hey, no cavities for me, so YAY!

**DS2010 writes: _"_**_Glad Harry met the Professor McGonagall too bad she had to tell him about going back to his relatives. I bet it was Dumbledork forcing the issue. Anyone with a brain would not send him back to them."_

**My reply:** Harry's living situation has always bothered me a lot. I understand the reasoning behind it, the Blood Protection and everything, but it still seems like there were better alternatives available to me. Still, I do my best to avoid character bashing, and to keep everyone behaving as they should!

Alright, see you all in two weeks! That's the 21st!


	8. Chapter VIII: The Hogwarts Express

**Chapter VIII**

**The Hogwarts Express**

**A**ugust had marked the final month before school was set to begin.

A whole month that Harry had largely spent practicing with his wand, reading his set books, and learning more about the wizarding world.

"_Diffindo!"_ said Harry, slicing his wand across the sheet of parchment that hovered a few feet in front of his face. Like a sickle reaping a bundle of wheat, it cleaved the thin sheet in half.

Finally, after a couple of days' practice, he had a fairly solid grasp on the Severing Charm. It was the latest spell he had managed to learn since purchasing his wand. It would also be his last before school started tomorrow.

Most of his things were packed into a large trunk, ready to make the journey to platform nine and three quarters. While there was still so much for him to learn, he could at least take comfort in the knowledge that he wouldn't be _completely_ ignorant when he set foot in Hogwarts for the first time.

Making his way over to the basin, he grinned at his reflection in the mirror.

He could only imagine the horrified expressions of his aunt and uncle if they could see him these days, garbed in his wizard robes, a wand in one hand and a spell book in his other, bright sparks illuminating the room with every practiced swish and flick of his wrist. It was easily the most un-Dursley thing he could imagine.

Of course, he wouldn't be so fortunate next year. Privet Drive was where they wished for him to remain over the summer. How they expected him to do any possible homework next year with his aunt and uncle breathing down his neck, he had no clue.

Aelia had promised to speak with her father about it, but Harry wasn't feeling terribly optimistic about her chances – and she hadn't mentioned a word of it since his birthday a month ago.

"Turn that frown upside down, dear!" encouraged the basin mirror.

Sighing, Harry forced himself to smile.

Why was he worrying about that now? That was a problem for next year. He would soon be on his way to Hogwarts, to learn magic properly. He would be spending most of the year there. Even if he had to return to the Dursleys over the summer, it would just be for a few weeks.

He should be much more worried about trying to find his place in school, anyway. He still had to get passed the Sorting Ceremony. Hopefully, he had learned enough during these past five months to not be sent home. He had made sure to read a bit from each of his set books and had even tried his hand at a few easy potions, with Aelia's help.

What more could he do?

Moving to the window, he reached into the cage hanging there to gently stroke the feathers of his owl, whom he had decided to name Hedwig. It was a name he had found in _A History of Magic_.

Tilting her head, Hedwig gave his fingers a gentle nip, hooting softly.

"Tomorrow's the big day, girl," said Harry, his smile becoming more genuine as he spoke to her. "I'll bet _you_ won't have any trouble fitting in with the other owls, will you?"

He had already sent her out a few times to deliver letters to Aelia, just to try it out. Writing under his adopted pseudonym of "Henry Cornfoot", it was strangely fun exchanging letters – especially given that she couldn't visit him quite as often now, due to having her own pre-Hogwarts preparations to make.

Glancing out the window at the sun sitting high in the sky, Harry turned to stare at the old cuckoo clock on the wall. "It's almost noon, I'd better get down to Rosa Lee's."

He had agreed to meet Aelia there for tea since it was his last day at Diagon Alley. It almost made him feel a little sad – he would miss all the shops, and the colourful witches and wizards that always filled the streets each day.

Weaving his way through the crowd, Harry pushed open the door to Rosa Lee's Tea Shop and almost immediately spotted Aelia sitting at one of the tables, having already ordered them each a cup of tea.

"You're late," she said, rapping her fingers against the table impatiently. "If you can't even make it here on time, you'll never get to King's Cross Station before the train leaves."

Harry sighed, taking his seat across from her. "Sorry. I'll make sure and wake up early tomorrow."

"Remember to wear your Muggle clothes if you're walking," said Aelia, sipping of her tea.

"I know that," said Harry. "'Statute of Secrecy', I haven't forgotten."

Momentarily glancing about the small teashop, Aelia leaned forward. "Did you read up on how to actually get _onto_ the platform?"

"No? Why, is there some trick to it?"

"Of a sort—the entrance is hidden, much like Diagon Alley."

"Do I have to tap a brick, then?"

Aelia shook her head. "No. According to Father, you just have a run at the barrier."

"What?" Harry blinked. "Right into the barrier?"

"It's an illusion. Do you want me to wait for you outside it?"

"No," said Harry after a pause. "I think I can manage. You should find us a seat on the train."

It was now Aelia's turn to sigh, her face looking almost apologetic now. "My father will probably wish to meet with you."

"Really?" asked Harry. "I've been kind of curious about your parents, so I don't mind."

"That makes one of us," she mumbled.

Harry raised his brows. "Don't you like your father?"

"It's not that," she said, shaking her head. "I love Father, really. He can just be…never mind."

He wanted to try and reassure in some way, but he knew so little about her family life that nothing helpful really came to mind. Instead, he ordered them both some egg sandwiches, and did his best to change the subject.

"How long does it take for the train to make it to Hogwarts?" asked Harry.

Aelia shrugged. "I'm uncertain. A few hours, at least."

"It must be pretty big, if every student rides it to school."

"It probably uses extension charms – there'll be hundreds of others there with us," she said, biting the end off her sandwich.

Harry laughed. "I keep forgetting about those!"

The next hour at Rosa Lee's was largely spent talking about the classes they were most excited about. For Harry, the number one spot proved to be an easy choice.

"Flying, hm?" said Aelia, twirling a blonde strand of hair around her finger. "I heard your father was very good at Quidditch. I'll bet you'll be great at it, too!"

Harry almost opened his mouth in protest at the comparison, but…he honestly hoped that she was right in this instance. He _really_ wanted to fly. It was just a shame they weren't allowed to own their own brooms yet or play Quidditch until second year. From what he had read about it at Flourish and Blotts, it looked more fun than anything he had ever dreamed of.

"I hope so," he finally said.

After leaving the tea shop, Aelia returned home to finish preparing for the next day. Harry had a restless sleep that night, excitement and anxiety comingling to ensure that he would be tossing about his bed until dawn.

The next morning, Tom brought him an especially large breakfast, saying that he needed the energy for his journey.

"Thank you," said Harry. "Both for all the free meals, and for…well, not telling everyone about me."

He wasn't certain when exactly the innkeeper had figured his identity out, but he had thankfully kept that knowledge to himself. If there really were old supporters of Lord Voldemort still out there like Hagrid had warned, then it was probably for the best if he didn't advertise who he was before school.

"Think nothing of it, my boy," said Tom, a gummy smile parting his lips. "It'll stay our secret for so long as you wish it."

After over a month of wearing robes, it felt awkward to be back in Dudley's old clothes, but there was nothing for it—he would stick out bad enough with his big trunk and screeching owl.

Though the train was to leave at eleven o'clock, Harry left the Leaky Cauldron at nine-thirty. Better to be early than late, after all, and this _was_ his first time wandering London alone. As expected, many passing Muggles shot him looks of surprise, concern, and confusion as he passed. He needed to stop and ask for directions more than once. All in all, the thirty-minute journey ended up taking him closer to forty-five minutes.

When he at last arrived at the platforms, it was thirty-eight till. Surely enough, Harry could see a big plastic number nine and ten hanging above their respective platforms, with no nine and three-quarters in sight. Staring at the barrier, he swallowed the lump swelling in his throat. Aelia said he had to take it in a run, and he prayed she was right—he would create an awful mess if his trolley collided with it.

Taking a minute to steel his nerves, Harry started towards the barrier. Jostled about by the crowd, he began to pick up speed as he approached. Faster and faster, he was unable to stop himself from closing his eyes, certain that he would smash right into it.

But he didn't. He had kept on running. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine now filled his vision, along with a platform packed with people. A sign overhead clearly read Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Turning, he saw a wrought-iron archway with _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it. It had worked.

Hedwig was now just one of many owls hooting over the bustle of the crowd. Smoke billowed from the engine as children leaned out its windows to speak with their families. A calico cat gently rubbed against Harry's leg as it moved to join its kind in weaving through the forest of legs on the platform, while the loud croaking of several toads could be clearly heard.

Pushing his trolley down the platform, Harry noticed that he wasn't the only one wearing muggle clothing. Many a witch and wizard were garbed in dresses or shirts and trousers, though in some cases their choice in colour or fashion was so bizarre that they might as well have been wearing robes.

"Harry, over here!" a voice called out through the bustle of the crowd.

It was Aelia, wearing a black Muggle blouse and jeans. She was standing next to a tall man in a bespoke charcoal striped suit, overcoat, and homburg. Even Uncle Vernon would be impressed with this man's dapper appearance, except, perhaps, for the thin scar that ran from the corner of his right eye to his left cheek, crossing his nose on the way.

As Harry approached, he was surprised to see a large, black raven resting in a cage beside his friend's trunk.

"I'm sorry for not finding us a seat," said Aelia. "Father _really_ wanted to meet you."

"Yes, please pardon the inconvenience, Mr. Potter," said Aelia's father, extending a gloved hand. "Cyrillus Yaxley."

Harry quickly accepted his greeting. "It's an honour to meet you, sir."

"Oh, the honour is all mine!" said Mr. Yaxley, his lips curling into a smile. "I've heard so very much about you."

Harry smiled awkwardly, doing his very best to be good mannered. It felt like he was standing before nobility. "Aelia's been a great help in teaching me all about the wizarding world."

Mr. Yaxley chuckled, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Yes, imagine my surprise when I discovered that the little friend my Aelia had been running off to see was none other than the great Harry Potter himself!"

'Great'…he hadn't been called that all month. And it had been such a wonderful month, too.

"He's known about you for quite some time now, as it turns out," grumbled Aelia.

Mr. Yaxley's smile broadened in response, his hand gently squeezing her shoulder. "If I can't even keep track of my own daughter, then I'm unworthy of my position."

Harry smiled at their somewhat formal, yet affectionate relationship. Would he have had something similar with _his_ father, had he lived? They were both apparently from old families.

"I do hope you'll keep my daughter from causing _too_ much trouble at Hogwarts," said Mr. Yaxley, glancing down at Aelia. "I'm certain you've noticed her penchant for sticking her nose into places where it _doesn't_ belong."

"I'll try," said Harry uneasily.

"Thank you for not saying anything _embarrassing_, Father," muttered Aelia, making for the train. "Come, Harry; let's find a seat before it becomes too crowded."

"Alright."

"Have a good term, Aelia," said Mr. Yaxley, levitating both her and Harry's trunks onto the train with a quick wave of his wand. "I expect to hear word of your academic success by Christmas."

"Yes, Father," droned Aelia, climbing into the carriage after Harry.

While they were far from the first to board the Hogwarts Express, there remained a fair choice in compartments—the train wouldn't be departing for over half an hour still.

"Want to sit in the middle?" asked Harry. "It'll be easier to watch the others board the train from there."

Aelia nodded, pulling her trunk along behind her. "Alright."

Working together to lift their trunks onto the racks above their respective seats, they settled in by the window. Hedwig's cage was placed across from Aelia's raven, the snowy owl giving the other bird an indignant hoot. It didn't seem to notice or care, its head busily darting about the compartment.

"I don't remember ravens being on the list of pets," said Harry.

"Oh, that list is to just give you an idea of what sorts of animals are allowed. You can't bring something so large as a dog, for example. Look"—she pointed out the window to a boy with dreadlocks who had lifted a startlingly large spider from the box in his arms—"that student brought a tarantula of some kind."

Harry watched the boy hold the wriggling mass of hair and legs for a moment before shoving it back into its box. The other children on the platform seemed greatly impressed. "Well, I'm happy with Hedwig—I doubt spiders deliver post."

"Altheda will, according to the saleswoman at Magical Menageries," said Aelia, smiling at her pet. "Ravens can live for over forty years, if you properly care for them."

One after another, children and their families passed through the barrier and boarded the Hogwarts Express, many of them passing by their compartment along the way. Thus far, nobody had taken the seats across the aisle from them. Occasionally, Aelia would point out a particular student when they stepped onto the platform. She certainly wasn't short on acquaintances for someone who claimed to be friendless.

"Oh, look! There's Ernest Macmillan!" she said excitedly. "We've known one another for a while. Do you mind if I call him over?"

"Of course not!" said Harry eagerly. He had been looking forward to making friends at Hogwarts all summer.

Leaning out the window, Aelia waved as Ernest approached the train. "Macmillan!"

Smiling when he saw Aelia, he returned her wave and started towards their carriage. When he boarded, he looked mildly surprised to see Harry already sitting with her. He was a somewhat stout boy with blond hair and carried himself with a distinct air of pride. Sliding into the seat beside Aelia, he shook her hand in greeting. "Good morning, Yaxley!"

"Good morning, Macmillan," she said warmly. "I wanted to introduce you to my friend here."

He nodded, immediately turning to grasp Harry's hand in greeting. "Good morning to you, as well! I'm Ernest Macmillan."

"It's nice to meet you, I'm Harry Potter."

His hand went lax, and Ernest pressed his back against the seat, glancing between Harry and Aelia. "You're _not?_ …He's _not?"_

"No, he's _Potter!_" She grinned, gesturing towards Harry's forehead. "Show him, won't you?"

Obliging, he lifted his fringe to show Ernest the scar. The other boy gawked in amazement at the sight, just like one might upon meeting a celebrity. Harry had always liked his scar, and he was evidently not alone in that sentiment.

"Wait, since when are _you_ friends with _Harry Potter?"_ asked Ernest, glancing to Aelia.

"Oh, you know," she said, casually looking out the window, "since about half a year ago."

"_Half a year?"_ balked Ernest. He slowly turned back to Harry. "Well, Potter, it's an honour to meet you. My family opposed _You-Know-Who_ during the war, just so you know!"

"Really?" said Harry, shifting in his seat. "That's good to hear."

"Know where you'll be sorted yet, Potter?"

"Not really," admitted Harry. "I'm still not sure I'm suited for _any_ of the Houses."

"Well, everyone has a place at Hogwarts," said Ernest. "I know where mine is—Hufflepuff."

"Yes, your family's been in Hufflepuff for, what, eight generations?" asked Aelia.

"_Nine_," said Ernest proudly. "You would certainly be welcomed there, Potter, I can guarantee it."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I'll just be happy if I'm not sent home."

Ernest laughed. "Can't say I've ever heard of _that_ happening!"

"Besides, Harry, you've more than proven that you're a talented wizard!" Aelia turned to Ernest. "He learned more than a half-dozen spells in just over a month!"

Harry felt himself turning red when Ernest smiled in appreciation. "'Learned' is a bit much, don't you think? I can barely do some of them."

"That's still more than most students know," said Ernest. "You'd be a real credit to Hufflepuff, that's for certain."

"Well—"

"Forget it, Macmillan," said Aelia. "Harry belongs in Slytherin—with me!"

"Oh?" Ernest frowned at Aelia. "You've decided on Slytherin, then?"

"Don't you give me that look, Macmillan!" she said, folding her arms. "My father and uncle were both in Slytherin, and they've put more Dark Wizards in Azkaban than anyone."

Ernest held up his hands. "I didn't say anything!"

Harry wanted to offer his opinion on the matter, except he wasn't exactly sure what the matter _was._ Their brief spat gave him that same feeling of being locked out of the loop that he'd often gotten since he left Privet Drive.

Turning back to the window, he continued to watch the various students and their parents make their way onto the platform. Eventually, a rather tall boy with flaming red hair would pass through the barrier at nine till. This wouldn't have been worth noting, except that Aelia seemed to be staring at him rather intently.

"Do you know him, Aelia?" asked Harry.

She squinted and then shook her head. "No. I thought that he might be a Weasley, but he looks rather well-dressed and proper for one. He definitely has the hair, however."

"That's Percy Weasley," said Ernest, shoving his head in between them. "I hear he's their oldest kid that's still at Hogwarts."

Harry glanced between them, that feeling of being completely lost rearing its ugly head yet again. "Um, sorry, but…who are the Weasleys?"

"An old wizarding family like ours," said Aelia, glancing to Earnest. "Or they _should_ be, at least. They're…odd. Father says they're so terrible with money that their kids have to wander about in old worn-out hand-me-down robes."

Harry caught himself tugging at the old shirt of Dudley's that he was wearing. He certainly knew what it was like to never have anything that was truly your own. Of course, the Dursleys were far from poor, they just hated him.

Soon, two more boys emerged from the barrier—twins. They were followed by a boy Harry's age. A plump, older woman and young girl were just behind him. All had the same flaming hair.

Aelia rolled her eyes at the lot of them. "Well, there you have it! A wild flock of Weasleys. Red hair, dirt-covered faces, and tattered clothing. A collective crime against good taste."

Harry stared at her, frowning. "You sound like a pretty awful snob right now, you know. You just said yourself they're poor."

"Well, that's their father's fault," said Aelia, unfolding her arms so that she could dramatically fold them again. "My father says he has no ambition at all."

"That's got nothing to do with them, though, right?" asked Harry, glancing to the gathering of Weasley kids. "They've got to wear what they're given."

Ernest glanced between them awkwardly. "Err…so, Potter. Is it true that you were raised by Muggles? What's it like?"

"Horrible," said Harry, turning to Ernest. "At least, living with my aunt, uncle, and cousin is."

"Really? Do they not like magic or something?"

"Magic, or anything remotely out of the 'ordinary'."

Ernest tilted his head to the side. "Why'd they take you on, then, if they're like that?"

"Good question; they never told me. I didn't even know I was a wizard, until I met Aelia."

"Aelia the awful snob," she corrected him, now sulking up against the window.

Harry sighed. "I said that you _sounded_ awful, not that you _were_, alright? I just…I think you should actually _meet_ someone before you judge them. That's all, honestly."

"Might get your chance," said Ernest, leaning forward to look out the window again. A sharp whistle had just sounded, causing any remaining children on the platform to quickly pile onto the train. "Looks like we're leaving."

The train began to move, lurching slowly from the station. Amusingly, the youngest of the Weasley children tried to run after it, tears pouring down her face even as she laughed. Picking up speed as it rounded the corner, houses were soon flashing past the window. Harry felt lighter than air in his exhilaration - he was off to Hogwarts, and _nothing_ could stop him now!

"I wish to change into my school robes," said Aelia sharply. "Will you both stand watch outside the compartment?"

"Alright," said Harry, stepping into the aisle with Ernest. Both were given a start when the compartment door slammed shut behind them.

Ernest chuckled, glancing to him. "Have to be careful with girls, Potter; it's easy to set them off."

Harry made a noise in acknowledgement. "Do you agree with her?"

"About?"

"All that stuff about the Weasleys."

Ernest shrugged. "My family doesn't hate them or anything, if that's what you mean. The whole Muggle obsession they've got is a little embarrassing, though."

"Muggle obsession?"

"The father, right?" continued Earnest. "He's a Muggle fanatic. Collects old Muggle junk and everything. He's always going on about them, Mother says."

Harry never imagined that there might be wizards who were just as curious about Muggles as he had been about the wizarding world. Aelia had asked him questions on occasion but had never really seemed too invested in learning anything that wasn't useful for her studies.

The boy with the dreadlocks and several of his friends soon settled in the compartment across from theirs, all of them still admiring the spider he had brought. More students continued to squeeze past them to have a look, including the twin Weasleys.

"Quite the fuzzy nightmare you got there, Jordan!" said one of the brothers, grinning ear-to-ear.

"Be a shame if he found his way into old Filch's bed one night, eh?" said the other, matching his sibling's mischievous cheer.

Jordan laughed raucously along with the other boys. "I bet he'd give Mrs. Norris a proper fright, too!"

Harry didn't know who "Filch" or "Mrs. Norris" were, but it sounded like they wouldn't be having a very pleasant school year.

The door snapped open, and Aelia stepped out between them. She was now wearing her black school robes. Looking across the aisle, she briefly crinkled her nose. "I'm finished. You both may change now."

Trading places with Aelia, Harry and Ernest replaced their Muggle clothing with the black work robes from Madam Malkin's. It was Harry's first time trying them on since then, and while not as comfortable as Mrs. Blishwick's custom-made robes, they were certainly better fitting than Dudley's old shirt and trousers.

By the time they had finished changing, Aelia no longer seemed as upset, but still wasn't saying much—instead, she had removed a book from her trunk to read in silence. Titled "Bride of the Warlock-King"; it was, judging by the description on the back, some sort of romance novel.

"So, the wizarding world has books like that?" asked Harry.

Aelia glanced up at him over the top of her book. "Romantic literature, you mean? It's quite popular, actually—tens of thousands of young witches across Europe and the New World have read it."

"A whole lot of mushy nonsense, if you ask me," added Earnest.

"I don't believe I _did_ ask you," said Aelia, returning to her novel.

The train had left metropolitan London while they were changing. They were now passing fields of cows and sheep. Harry and Ernest quietly enjoyed the scenery while Aelia continued to read. At a little before twelve-thirty, there was a racket outside their compartment. A smiling, dimpled witch slid open the door and asked, "anything off the trolley, dears?"

Aelia set her book on the seat and smiled up at the woman. "Six Pumpkin Pasties, if you please."

Watching her stand from her seat and pay the woman a couple of Sickles, Harry quickly realized that the lady had nothing he recognized on her trolley—no Mars Bars or Turkish Delights to be found. He remained undaunted, however, and simply bought a few of everything; it would probably be a long train ride.

Ernest looked quite surprised by the pile of sweets he had purchased, but Aelia simply chuckled, already eating one of her Pumpkin Pasties.

"Harry _really_ loves sweets."

"I can see that," said Ernest, turning to the trolley witch. "Just three Liquorice Wands for me, thank you."

Harry ignored them, busy tearing open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Aelia winced sharply when she noticed.

"Careful, Harry—I swore off those after tasting a sweaty armpit flavoured bean."

"My last one was mulch," said Ernest as Harry went ahead and popped a dark yellow one in his mouth. "What did you get, Potter?"

Chewing it cautiously, Harry had made certain to carefully avoid any suspiciously brown beans. "…Butterscotch."

This made Ernest brave enough to try a few more with him, but Aelia refused to join in, content with her Pumpkin Pasties. They tasted all manner of flavours, normal and strange, until Harry at last bit down on a white bean that he had suspected was pinacolato.

"What is it?" asked Ernest, leaning forward.

Harry spat it out the window, shaking his head. "I think it was bird poo."

They decided to try the other sweets he had bought. The chocolate frogs cards were a bit strange, but nevertheless good—he even managed to get a card with Albus Dumbledore on it.

The train had soon passed the fields and was taking them through a mixture of woodland, rivers, and dark green hills. Eventually, there was another knock on their compartment door; it slid open to reveal a round-faced boy who looked rather tearful. Aelia immediately stood, looking concerned.

"Longbottom? Whatever is the matter?"

"Aelia?" said Longbottom in surprise. "It's my toad; I've lost him! You haven't seen him, have you?"

"I'm afraid not," said Aelia. Harry and Ernest both shook their heads.

He proceeded to wail. "He keeps getting away from me, no matter what I do!"

"He'll turn up," said Harry.

"Or"—she glanced between the two of them—"we could help him search."

"Really?" said Longbottom hopefully.

"You think it's safe to leave our things here unguarded?" asked Ernest.

"I'll place a Locking Charm on the door," said Aelia. "I doubt anyone in our year knows the counter-charm yet."

Harry would have been lying if he said that he had anything better to do. At least it might give him a chance to meet some other students. "Alright, let's go."

* * *

As it turned out, searching for a single toad on a rather large train was more difficult a task than Aelia had expected, even with four people helping her. Whenever they would board a new carriage, they would split up to cover as many compartments as possible, and the responses they received would vary greatly.

Certain students were quite polite.

"Have you seen a toad?" asked Aelia.

"We haven't, right?" said Katie Bell, Leanne shaking her head in response.

Others less so.

"Has anyone in here seen a toad?"

"Who would _want _to?" scoffed Zacharias Smith.

While some were just plain _rude_.

"Have you seen Longbottom's toad hopping about?"

"Ew, no!" said Pansy Parkinson. "It's probably laying smashed somewhere after he tripped and fell on it."

At the very least, she was getting to meet all her future classmates.

"If you're sorted into Ravenclaw, then we can study together," said Padma Patil to a bushy-haired girl, their doorway having been left open. "I've had my heart set on that House ever since—"

Lightly clearing her throat, Aelia frowned apologetically. "I'm _terribly_ sorry for interrupting, but have either of you seen a toad outside of its cage?"

"I haven't," said Patil, glancing to the first year seated across from her. "Have you, Hermione?"

"I'm afraid not," answered Hermione, "but I could help you look, if you would like?"

Holding up her hands, Aelia shook her head. "No, that's quite alright! We already have several others searching for him. It would probably upset the conductor if we have half the train out of their seats over a toad."

"Oh, you're probably right," said Hermione.

As she continued checking one compartment after the other, Aelia began to fear that she and her friends would gain a reputation for being a bit of nuisance. Of course, she doubted anyone would be _too_ upset by a surprise meeting with Harry Potter.

"Pardon me, but have you seen…" Aelia trailed off, realizing who was sitting in the compartment she had just opened. The youngest Weasley boy stared up at her in confusion, his mouth full of what looked to be a cornbeef sandwich. "…a toad?"

"A toad?" he said after swallowing his food, leaving his mouth dotted with crumbs.

He had a rather obvious spot of dirt on his nose, which was a step up from what she had seen from the window earlier—his mother had actually tried to _spit-shine_ him instead of simply using a Cleaning Charm.

His clothes looked as if they had been through several sets of owners. While passing down clothes to future generations was an honoured tradition, his had clearly been poorly cared for. This was quite disrespectful to their ancestors, given that his family was every bit as old as her own. They shared more than a few relatives, albeit distantly.

"Why are you staring at me like that? Do I have something on my face?" he asked, snapping her back to reality.

"Yes—err, sorry; Longbottom has lost his pet," she explained, trying to hide her disdain—it wouldn't do to be rude, after all. "You haven't seen it, have you?"

"No," he said.

Her eyes quickly darted about the otherwise empty compartment. He had three siblings attending Hogwarts with him, yet here he was, sitting alone. "Why aren't your brothers here with you? This is your first year as well, is it not?"

"Yeah," he said, shoving his sandwich back into its wrap. He seemed almost happy to have an excuse to stop eating it. "Percy's with the other prefects, and Fred and George wanted to see Lee Jordan's spider."

A small part of her immediately demanded that she sit with him so that he didn't have to spend his first train ride alone, but Aelia was quick to smack this deviant piece of her psyche down. Besides, she still hadn't found Trevor. "Well, I'm sure you'll make plenty of friends at school."

"Yeah," he said again, not sounding terribly convinced. "I'm Ron, by the way—who are you?"

"Aelia Yaxley," she said with a slight nod.

Harry's words were echoing incessantly in her ear—it wasn't his fault that his parents were poor. He wasn't even able to afford a few snacks from the trolley, how pathetic was that?

Reaching into the pocket of her robes, she retrieved the remaining two pumpkin pasties she had yet to eat, offering them to him. "Here, try these. I imagine you might enjoy them more than the sandwich you were eating."

His blue eyes flashed with excitement as he eagerly accepted them. "Wow, thanks! It's been forever since I had a Pumpkin Pastie!"

"Yes, they're my favourite," said Aelia, smiling as she stepped back into the aisle. "It was nice meeting you."

"Err, yeah. You too!" he said, waving to her.

Having to start from the middle had made their search a lot harder. Although she would hate to quit after giving her word, Aelia was fast becoming disheartened by the futility of their efforts. How could _nobody_ have seen a toad hopping down the aisle? Unless, of course…

"Longbottom, you didn't lose him back on the _platform,_ did you?"

"N-no!" said Longbottom desperately. "Well, _yes_…but my gran found him _that_ time! I swear, I had him when I boarded!"

"Well, we've been looking for nearly an hour," said Harry. "There's only so many places where he could have hidden."

Ernest nodded. "We'll also be arriving at school before too long."

"Just one more carriage, then," said Aelia. "If we cannot find it there, then I'm afraid we'll have to return to our compartment. I'm sorry, Longbottom."

"I…understand," he said dejectedly. "Thanks for looking with me."

Making their way into one final carriage, their fortunes appeared to be unchanged. Nobody had seen scale nor wart of Trevor the toad.

"I'm terribly sorry for bothering you, but you wouldn't happen to have seen a toad hopping about, would you?" asked Aelia, glancing between the three boys, one of whom she recognized as Cormac McLaggen—his uncle worked with her father at the ministry.

"Heh, no toads here, 'cept this one," said McLaggen, tossing a squirming chocolate frog back through the air and into his mouth. The other two boys looked suitably impressed.

"Alright, thank yo—"

"Say," McLaggen cut her off, "aren't you Aelia Yaxley? Your father's the Head of Magical Law, right?"

"Yes, that's right," she said, turning to leave. "I'll see you later at school, I'm certain—"

"Hold up a minute!" His fingers closed around her upper arm, preventing her from leaving. His hand was quite massive, easily encircling her limb.

Reflexively reaching for her wand, she stared back at him over her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Hogwarts isn't too far, you should ride with us the rest of the way," said McLaggen, eying her greedily. "Making new friends is important, you know."

How did she manage to get herself into _this_ situation? …Right, by trying to do a good deed. That's how these things usually happened. At least she managed to find a toad.

"Let me go," she said firmly, withdrawing her wand from her robes.

"Ooh!" McLaggen recoiled slightly in mock fear, the two other boys parroting him. "So scary! And here I'm just trying to be friendly!"

It was three against one, but she didn't have to defeat them. She could hit McLaggen with a Stunning Spell and run before the others could retaliate. Surely, they wouldn't try and chase her down on the train?

"Stup—"

"Aelia!" called Harry, causing her wand to stop mid-flourish.

She felt McLaggen's fingers loosen their grip, and she quickly pulled herself free. Smiling in relief, she backed away from the compartment. "Harry, brilliant timing!"

"_Harry?"_ McLaggen stood from his seat. Aelia only now realized just how _big_ McLaggen was in comparison to the rest of them. He was only a second year, if she recalled correctly, but he looked more like a fourth or fifth. "As in _Harry Potter?"_

"Yeah," said Harry, seeming just as taken aback by his stature. "Who are you?"

"Cormac McLaggen. You're smaller than I expected," he said, sizing Harry up. "Still, you ought to join us. There's room for one more."

"Us?" asked Harry, glancing between the two boys.

"Yeah! These are my best mates, Will Carter and Kenneth Hawkworth," he explained, the two boys offering a casual wave. Jabbing a large hand in Harry's direction, McLaggen continued, "We know where the _real_ fun is at Hogwarts! Hang with us and we'll show you!"

"I'm sure I'll have plenty of fun anyway, thanks," said Harry, backing away into the aisle. "Let's go, Aelia—there's only one compartment left."

"Alright," she said, watching McLaggen's arrogant smile twist downwards in anger as they retreated. It felt like they had already gotten on somebody's bad side, and they weren't even at school yet.

Having otherwise searched the carriage, the four of them congregated around the last compartment. Longbottom looked utterly crestfallen, no doubt realizing that there was little hope of reuniting him with his misplaced pet now.

When Aelia tiredly reached for the door, it snapped open of its own accord, giving them all a start.

"…Lyra! And Mr. Black?"

"Hello, Ms. Yaxley," said Professor Black. "My daughter said you would be stopping by."

Lyra nodded, standing. Aelia quickly noticed what she was holding.

"Trevor!" shouted Longbottom in excitement, rushing forward to grab hold of the squirming pet.

Aelia gawked at the toad in amazement before glancing to the dark-haired girl. "How long have you been holding him?"

"Since we departed," said Lyra.

Everyone stared at her for a long moment, their faces leaping between shock and frustration. All their searching had just been rendered utterly pointless. Aelia struggled to find her voice. "Since we…and you…you _knew_ we were looking for him, didn't you! Why did you not come and find us?"

"Because I knew you would come and find _me,"_ she answered calmly. "Had I left this compartment for yours, then Cormac McLaggen would have tripped me, and I would have dropped Trevor."

"Your 'Inner Eye' told you this, I suppose?" said Ernest sceptically.

"'Inner Eye'?" asked Harry.

Lyra turned to look at him. "I am a Seer, Harry Potter. Your aura…it's a very strange one."

"My…what?"

"Lyra; don't frighten the boy," said Mr. Black, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder.

"It's very warm at the centre," she continued, ignoring her father. "Bright, hopeful. But there's a terrible coldness surrounding it, like a second skin."

"Lyra!" snapped Mr. Black. "Enough. I apologize, Mr. Potter."

"It's…fine," said Harry, who was looking thoroughly disturbed.

Aelia could hardly blame him; that girl was difficult to be around these days. Wanting to change the subject, she turned to Lyra's father. "You must be really excited for the Sorting Ceremony, Mr. Black."

"It's _Professor_ Black, now that you're attending school, Ms. Yaxley. And yes, I am eagerly anticipating the moment my daughter joins my House," he explained, his stern expression relaxing into a smile as he glanced between Aelia and Harry. "That holds true for the both of you as well, of course. Regardless of where you're sorted, however, I look forward to seeing you in class!"

"Oh, right!" said Harry, the colour having mostly returned to his face. "You teach History of Magic, right? I named my owl Hedwig, after a name in _A History of Magic!_"

_Professor_ Black chuckled. "Ah, the fourteenth century alchemist? An excellent choice! I'm sure you'll enjoy my class. I've done all I can to liven things up a bit ever since I replaced poor Professor Binns. They had him still teaching the class long after he died, you see, and I daresay the students weren't learning very much at all—ghosts aren't the most captivating of teachers."

"There was"—Harry's voice briefly caught in his throat—"a _ghost_ teaching a class?"

"Oh yes," said Professor Black. "Still not _too_ familiar with our world yet, I see. Well, don't worry; it'll all seem perfectly natural to you in no time."

A voice suddenly echoed through the train.

"We will be arriving at Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to school separately."

Professor Black stood from his seat, straightening his robes. "Well then, you had best be off. Good luck with your sorting!"

"Thank you for your help, everyone!" said Longbottom, holding onto Trevor tightly. He was still squirming to get free as his owner turned to leave.

"You're welcome. I would suggest buying a proper cage for him," said Aelia.

Longbottom looked back at their group and smiled wearily. "I had one, but I tripped and smashed it open; that's how he first escaped."

* * *

They're so very close to Hogwarts now! Their arrival will be in the next chapter, to be released on the 7th of February!

I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and ended up finishing it early, so I'm already working on the next one! I know better than to overestimate myself, though, so I'm not going to do another early chapter. XD

Now, for the reviews!

**Jyotsanaa writes:** _"Nice update... Regulus Black's daughter? A new character..."_

**My**** response:** Yup! Regulus actually has two children, though only one is old enough to start attending Hogwarts! I hope you enjoyed meeting her, even if she's a bit on the weird side of things! She'll be showing up more in the future, likely to predict that future's future...or something!

**DS2010 writes:** _"Glad Harry got his owl I always loved Hedwig. Wonder if he will name it that._

_Happy his birthday was good and got to learn about his parents and meet Regulus and Hagrid"_

**My response:** I thought long and hard on if I should have him give her a different name, given the very different circumstances that he finds himself in. Ultimately, I decided to keep her canon name. After all, Harry is, if anything, reading through his set books even more than in the canon timeline, so he would definitely come across it!

I was very happy and excited to write the introductory scene for Regulus! He will play a bigger role from here on out, hence why I tagged him for the story!

**Slytherin Potter writes: _"_**_What a way to meet Regulus and for him to take over Binns' position as History of Magic Professor as well as Snape's for Head of Slytherin is truly spectacular. Cannot wait for more info on him especially since he silenced Hagrid with a glare about Sirius._

_Looks like Regulus is also Aelia's tutor or could be just a friend to her Father that's why they know each other. That was truly a wonderful birthday for Harry, he definitely deserves it. Until the 21st take it easy!"_

**My response:** Thanks, and welcome back! I've missed reading your reviews! ^^

When deciding what role Regulus would play at Hogwarts, I went over all of the available positions and compared them to what we knew that he was good at. Unfortunately, we really don't know much about Regulus at all from the books, other than that he was good at Quidditch, and was knowledgeable enough in the Dark Arts to deduce that Voldemort had made a Horcrux and could create a Patronus.

But for the same reason he would never allow Snape to have it, I knew Dumbledore wouldn't waste Regulus' talent on the cursed DADA position. The next most obvious choice was Potions, as Snape...is elsewhere here, but I have other plans for that position! That left History of Magic, a position occupied by no one living, seemed like the only real choice - and I'm actually quite happy with it! I can't wait for everyone to see him teach it!

Your second guess was correct! Regulus is a good friend of her father! Her tutor would be Professor Nandoro, a character that has been mentioned a few times, but has yet to make an actual appearance! Maybe in the future he will, though! Thanks for writing again!

**Guest writes: **_"__Regulas and Hagrid introduction were great."_

**My response:** Thanks! Honestly, the most challenging part of that scene was getting Hagrid's accent right. That is always difficult for me and I'm left having to look back at the books over and over again to make sure I'm not messing something up!

Alright, everyone, that's it for now! I'm looking forward to seeing all of you again on the 7th of February! Until then, have a great day!


	9. Chapter IX: The Sorting Hat

**Chapter IX**

**The Sorting Hat**

After having wasted their last hour on the Hogwarts Express looking for a toad that had already been found, Aelia could see that the sky outside had darkened. The train was slowing, and she could glimpse the pointed tops of Hogwarts' towers rising in the distance.

"Look, Harry!" she pointed out the window of their compartment. "That's it!"

Harry's vivid, green eyes flashed in excitement when he caught sight of that small sliver of the school where they would be spending the next nine months together. "It's hard to believe we're almost there, after months of hearing about it!"

"Try hearing about it your entire life," said Macmillan.

Aelia smiled and stashed her book into her trunk while Harry pocketed all the sweets he could carry into his robes. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were no longer in the compartment across from them, and they could see students of various ages darting past them in their eagerness to depart the train they had spent much of their day on.

The corridor was packed, and so it was quite fortunate that they didn't have to bring their trunks—it would have been a dreadful time trying to navigate them through such a throng. When the train slowed to a stop, there was an immediate push to get through the door and onto the small, dark platform outside.

The night air was surprisingly frigid for this time of year, making Aelia regret not wearing more beneath her robes. Then again, Harry seemed to still be chilled, despite having likely kept his Muggle clothing on. The Scottish Highlands were clearly colder than south-eastern England.

"Look, there's Hogsmeade!" said Macmillan, pointing to the row of cottages and shops in the distance.

"_That's_ Hogsmeade?" asked Harry, "It really is just right below the castle! Did the kids living here still have to take the train?"

Aelia shook her head, glancing to a small group of first years heading in their direction. "No, I don't think so. See there? I think those other first years live here."

"Maybe we could get some of them to show us around later!" suggested Harry.

"Afraid not, Potter," said Macmillan. "Only third years and up get to visit Hogsmeade."

"Yes, and it's utter tosh," grumbled Aelia. "I can't see the harm in—"

The glimmer of a light caught her eye, and she turned to see Hagrid approaching with a lantern in hand.

"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! All right there, Harry? Aelia too, I see," said Hagrid, his lantern bobbing over the heads of the students, his beard parted with a smile. "C'mon, follow me—any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now!"

That was easier said than done—the pathway was quite steep and narrow, and the darkness of the encroaching night certainly didn't help. She was sorely tempted to use a Wand-Lighting Charm to better illuminate the path but knew that would likely be frowned upon.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," said Hagrid, taking them around the bend.

The first years collectively gasped in awe as they emerged over a great black lake. In the distance, across the water, they could see Hogwarts itself—a sprawling castle of many towers and turrets, its windows shimmering with candlelight, as if to promise a warm reprieve from the chill of night.

For all her life she had read about it, seen moving illustrations, even—they didn't do service to its majesty. Her cheeks grew warm upon realizing that she had been gaping open mouthed with all the others, and she quickly hurried to the boats docked below.

"No more'n four to a boat!" called Hagrid, gesturing to the fleet of small boats awaiting them by the shore.

Aelia, Harry, and Macmillan piled into one boat, with Longbottom soon following them. It was rather cramped, and the crisp air was starting to make her lips grow chapped. When Hagrid—with a boat all to himself—gave the command, the small fleet set off across the lake in unison. Gliding across the dark water as if it were made of ice, Trevor the toad began to croak noisily as he squirmed ever harder to escape into the murky depths.

"Hold still, Trevor!" whispered Longbottom, doing his best to hold onto his pet.

Aelia watched their struggle while most everyone else was focused on the castle ahead. She sighed. "If he leaps overboard, there will be no hope of finding him again."

"I know, but he…he won't hold still!"

Seeing that Longbottom was likely fighting a losing battle, Aelia glanced between the other boats. Everybody was still fixated firmly upon Hogwarts, including Harry and Macmillan. Reaching into her robes, she withdrew her wand and whispered, _"Stupefy!"_

A small red spark shot from her wand and into the toad, which instantly went limp in its owner's hands. Quickly stashing her wand away, she shrugged in innocent confusion to Harry and Macmillan when they turned to stare at her. She hadn't put very much into it, so it hadn't created enough of a flash for the occupants of the other boats to notice.

"H-he'll be alright, won't he?" asked Longbottom, frowning at the limp amphibian in his hands.

"Yes, he'll awaken within the hour," said Aelia reassuringly.

"Head's down!" shouted Hagrid, their boat having reached the vine-obscured entrance of a cavern.

Crinkling her nose when the damp curtain of ivy swept across her hair, they were taken through a dark tunnel that she suspected was right beneath the school itself. Upon reaching the underground harbour at the end, they disembarked onto a gravelled pathway that ultimately led them to the grassy courtyard of the castle, which now loomed impressively above them.

Following Hagrid up a final flight of stone steps until they reached a large oak door, they watched him knock on it three times with his enormous fist.

It swung open at once, revealing a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes. Her stern expression reminded Aelia of some of her father's colleagues within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Whether they were a teacher or an Auror, you could always tell which ones were overly obsessed with following the rules to their very letter.

"That's Professor McGonagall," whispered Harry.

"She's not at all what I expected from the head of Gryffindor House," said Aelia. "She seems so…_strict."_

After briefly exchanging words with Hagrid, Professor McGonagall pulled the door wide and lead them into the entrance hall. It was vast, large enough to fit many of the shops in Diagon Alley within its stone walls. Torchlight illuminated their journey across the flagged stone floor, past a large set of doors on the right.

Aelia recognized this as the Great Hall—she could hear the whispers of the older students inside, likely awaiting their arrival. She had thought they would immediately step through them to be sorted, but Professor McGonagall instead guided them into a small, empty chamber off the hall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall you will be sorted into your Houses."

Professor McGonagall went on to explain the importance of the sorting ceremony, the four Houses, and—lastly—the House point system. "While at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour."

She had forgotten to tell Harry about that, but then she scarcely understood it herself. Her father had mentioned House points only in passing once when recounting his accomplishments at school. She wasn't entirely certain why she should care about this House Cup, since winning it didn't seem to actually _benefit_ her in any way. If everyone _else_ cared, however, then it would be unwise to upset her future housemates by losing points.

"The sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you, please wait quietly," finished Professor McGonagall, departing the chamber.

Judging by the terrified expressions that quickly filled the room in her wake, many were unaware of what the sorting ceremony entailed. This was understandable—it wasn't covered in books such as _Hogwarts: A History_, and some families preferred to keep it a secret from their children out of tradition.

Aelia glanced to Harry, grinning. "Well, it's almost time. How are you feeling?"

"Nervous," said Harry. "Terrified, actually. I can't stop imagining myself up there and the Sorting Hat saying nothing, or even sending me home…"

"It won't. Nobody that was a proven witch or wizard has ever actually been sent home," said Aelia.

Harry opened his mouth, but it took a moment for him to say anything. She had expected this reaction – she knew that she would have to admit the truth to him eventually, and this seemed like the best time.

"What…but you said I could be rejected if I wasn't good enough!" he snapped, drawing the eyes of several nearby students.

"No, I didn't," said Aelia calmly. "I said you were going to study hard so it _wouldn't_ happen…and you did! You've learned so much since then. I wanted to help you."

Harry balled his fists for a moment, before sighing. "Next time you want to help, Aelia, could you do it _without_ tricking me?"

"Fine, I'm sorry," she said, reaching out to place her hands on his shoulders. "Listen, if you're truly that concerned, just ask for the House you want when you're on the stool."

"Will it really listen?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. It couldn't hurt. I doubt it would place you somewhere that you hated—"

Aelia fell silent in shock when several students behind them screamed. Spinning on her heel, she witnessed a procession of about twenty ghosts gliding their way across the corridor. They appeared to be having an argument amongst themselves over somebody named "Peeves".

It took her a moment to recall where she had heard that name before. _Hogwarts: A History_ had mentioned a troublesome poltergeist by that name who had been an ever-present menace since the school's foundation. At least he seemed more mischievous than evil, which was more than she could say for the ones back home.

"New students!" exclaimed a portly ghost, tearing her from her thoughts. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"

A few students gave a muted nod, and Macmillan leaned in to whisper to them.

"That's Hufflepuff's House ghost, the Fat Friar!"

"House ghost?" Harry asked, clearly confused.

"Each of the four Houses has a ghost that sort of acts as their mascot, basically," Macmillan explained, watching the spirits be shooed out by a returning McGonagall. "I don't know who the others are, though."

"Now, form a line," the professor instructed.

Harry fell in behind Macmillan, and Aelia followed behind him in turn as they retraced their steps to the entrance hall. This time, they indeed did pass through the large double doors to the Great Hall, the light of thousands of floating candles instantly banishing any lingering darkness. They were now flanked by four long tables lined with glittering golden plates and goblets, where the older students were sitting.

Their attention was focused upon the first years almost without exception, the ghosts from earlier having settled at the tables of their respective houses, contrasting rather sharply with the living. Aelia hoped the damp ivy from earlier hadn't made a mess of her hair, since she would soon have to step up and be sorted in front of everyone.

Harry seemed no less anxious than she was about the approaching ceremony. In fact, he looked even worse. He had been so nervous ever since they had entered the school, despite her best efforts to put his mind at ease. Perhaps a little distraction would help?

"Look up, Harry!" she whispered.

Raising his head to the ceiling, his eyes widened at the sight of the stars twinkling above them against the velvety black ceiling. That was yet _another_ detail she had neglected to mention to him during her stories about Hogwarts, and after seeing the wondrous expression on his face, she was thankful she had.

"How do they…?"

"An enchantment, of some sort," said Aelia, shrugging. "It's supposed to reflect the sky outside. It's quite advanced, beyond what even I can understand at the moment."

"Hey, look!" said Harry, having lowered his eyes to where Professor McGonagall now stood. She had just placed a stool in front of the line, upon which sat a dirty, frayed old wizard's hat. "That's it, isn't it?"

"It must be, but I never imagined it would be so…_dirty,"_ said Aelia, watching the hat intently with the other students.

Just then, the sorting hat began to move. A rip near the brim opened wide and it, of all things, began to sing!

_"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folks use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

She couldn't deny that the song was both catchy _and_ informative, and she even found herself smiling and applauding with all the other students by the end. It took a bow to the four tables before going still again. Her father had never mentioned _this_ part of the sorting ceremony. Perhaps he wanted there to be at least a little bit of mystery left for her.

"So we just have to try on the hat?" said Ron Weasley, shooting an angry glare at his brothers over at the Gryffindor table. They seemed thoroughly amused by this.

"What were you expecting, Weasley?" asked Aelia.

He looked at her in surprise, his ears turning red with embarrassment. "Fred was talking about wrestling a troll…"

Aelia turned away to mask her bemusement as several other students began snickering. Even though he was a Weasley, she felt a little bad for him. He seemed rather naïve—who could expect a first year to face a troll and survive?

"When I call your name," said Professor McGonagall, holding a roll of parchment, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."

The first to be called forth was "Abbot, Hannah!". A pink-faced girl with pigtails stepped forth to place the hat over her head—and much of her face. After only a moment on her head, it shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table on the right erupted in applause, clearly happy to have the first student of the night in their House. Macmillan clapped alongside them, even though he had yet to be sorted. Harry seemed to be growing ever more nervous now that the ceremony was underway.

"Black, Lyra!" called McGonagall, and Lyra calmly approached the stool and allowed the hat to fall over her head. Aelia glanced back at the teacher's table and saw that Professor Black was leaning forward in anticipation. What felt like a solid minute passed, until the Sorting Hat finally roared, "RAVENCLAW!"

Aelia clicked her tongue as Lyra went to sit at the table second from the left. She whispered to Harry, "poor Professor Black. His family used to _always_ be in Slytherin—now they're going all over the place."

"What do you mean? Does she have an older sibling here?" asked Harry.

"No, no, I'm talking about her uncle. He was in Gryffindor; went completely _mad_ and killed one of his old classmates and a dozen Muggles when Voldemort died. It's said he was the Dark Lord's right-hand man," explained Aelia in a hushed tone. "It's _also_ said that when he finished with his former friend, the only thing left was his little finger."

Harry paled. "That's terrible! What happened to him?"

"He's in Azkaban. According to my father, he didn't even put up a fight when he was arrested, he just stood there laughing about everything he had done."

"SLYTHERIN!" shouted the Sorting Hat, and Millicent Bulstrode marched off to her new House table with a grin, the first Slytherin of the night. There had been a lot of students whose surnames started with B.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnegan, Seamus!" was next on the stool, the Sorting Hat taking roughly a minute before sorting him into "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Hey, did you see that?" whispered Harry. "Sometimes it takes a bit, and other times it knows where to put them right away."

Aelia shrugged. "Some people have traits from more than one House or have family connections to more than one. I could go into Ravenclaw if I really wanted to, for example. If they're unsure where they wish to go, then I guess the Sorting Hat can have a more difficult time of it."

Harry visibly gulped in response. Right, of course, he was one of those uncertain people. She should have chosen her words better.

"Don't worry so much about it, Harry," she whispered gently. "Wherever you go, we'll still be friends."

"Yeah," he said, smiling weakly. "Thanks, Aelia."

"Granger, Hermione!" practically ran to the stool, which was rather ironic given that she ended up sitting there the longest of anyone thus far. The Sorting Hat seemed to be having a rather hard time making up its mind with her. After nearly four minutes had passed, it finally shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"

Padma Patil clapped enthusiastically as Granger took her seat at the Ravenclaw table, clearly intending to follow her there when it was her turn to take the stool.

It was now Longbottom's turn and—in proper form—he tripped on his way to the stool, causing Aelia to wince. It proved to be another long wait rivalling Granger's. It looked almost like he was _arguing_ with the hat. She had never thought to ask him which House he wanted to be in, but it was apparently not the House the Sorting Hat wanted him in.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

He looked just as surprised as Aelia by this announcement, for he ran off the stool with the hat still on his head.

Not long after, it was "Macmillan, Ernest!"'s turn, and he was quickly granted his wish to be in Hufflepuff. Both Aelia and Harry clapped for him as he went to join his fellow badgers.

One by one, their line grew shorter and Harry's face seemed to grow paler along with it. She had tried everything she could to calm him up to this point, and so when "Potter, Harry!" was at last called, Aelia spoke the only words of encouragement she had left.

"Good luck."

* * *

"_Potter_ did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

If Harry had been feeling nervous before (and he most certainly _had_), the whispers stabbing at him from the four tables were certainly not helping matters. He could see them all stopping just short of breaking their necks to get a better look at him as the hat was lowered over his eyes.

"Hmm," grumbled a voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting…so where shall I put you?"

Harry's stomach had knotted so tightly that he feared he might never eat again. He _still_ didn't feel like he was well-suited to any of the Houses. He wasn't brave, clever, ambitious, or dependable. But he had to be sorted into one of them, surely, because the only house he was even _less_ suited to was number four, Privet Drive.

Cormac McLaggen had been sitting at the Gryffindor table, and they had really gotten off on the wrong foot with one another. Lyra Black had been sorted into Ravenclaw, and he wasn't sure he liked her too much, either. Ernest was in Hufflepuff, so it wouldn't be too bad if he wound up in his House.

Aelia obviously wanted him in Slytherin, she had repeatedly made that clear ever since she first introduced him to the subject of Houses.

"Slytherin, eh?" said the Sorting Hat, having apparently read his thoughts. "Indeed, I can see it—there's greatness in you, oh yes, and Slytherin will help to bring it out, no doubt about that."

Harry gulped.

There was that word again, "greatness". It was just about the last word he would ever use to describe himself, and yet he kept hearing it. Aelia, Mr. Ollivander, Professor Black, Mr. Yaxley and now even the Sorting Hat were predicting great things from him. But they had to be wrong, surely? He had never accomplished anything remotely great in his entire life. He was alone at school, bullied by his cousin, loathed and ignored by his aunt and uncle. He lived in a cupboard beneath the stairs.

Could somebody like that really have greatness in them?

"Ah, yes," said the Sorting Hat, "it's all clear now. In that case, let it be—SLYTHERIN!"

There had been a brief pause and a sharp hiss, as if the very room itself had gasped. A moment later, the entire Slytherin table burst into applause, washing away the silence. Slowly reaching up to remove the hat, Harry shakily moved to join his celebrating housemates, sliding in beside "Parkinson, Pansy".

"Welcome, Potter. I'm Gemma Farley," said a pretty brunette teenager, shaking his hand. "I'm the Prefect in charge of first years like yourself."

"It's nice to meet you," said Harry.

"Likewise," she said, smiling. "I expect great things of you, Potter—namely the House cup by the end of the school year."

Harry laughed nervously. _Of course,_ she expected great things of him. Everyone did. He felt as if a _great_ many people were doomed to be disappointed, but he would do his best. The Sorting Hat hadn't lied when it said that he wished to prove himself.

Glancing at the High Table, he caught sight of Hagrid. He looked startled for some reason, but quickly gave him the thumbs up when their eyes met. Grinning back, he looked to the centre of the table where Albus Dumbledore sat in a golden chair. He looked just as he had on the chocolate frog card earlier.

He then felt a chill run up his spine. Looking across the table, he was immediately captured by the blank, staring eyes of a horrible and gaunt-faced ghost bound in chains. Silvery bloodstains covered his clothes. He slowly nodded to Harry in apparent approval, which was fortunate, as he would never want to be on that spirit's bad side.

"That's our House ghost, 'The Bloody Baron'," said Pansy Parkinson, smirking to Harry. "Rather disgusting, isn't he?"

"Yeah," said Harry, making sure to keep his voice low. "Why's he covered in blood?"

"Who can say? _I'm_ not going to ask him."

"Thomas, Dean," easily the tallest boy in their year, was sorted into Gryffindor after a little under a minute on the stool. "Turpin, Lisa," was sent to Ravenclaw after him. Next up was "Weasley, Ronald", who was looking every bit as nervous as Harry had felt just before his own sorting. What surprised him, though, was that Aelia seemed to wish him luck before he made his way to the stool.

On the train she had never uttered a single kind word about the Weasleys, so why was she treating Ronald any different? Had they met before?

"GRYFFINDOR!" bellowed the Sorting Hat, and Ronald Weasley shakily made his way to the table and collapsed into his seat, one of his brothers—who looked to be a Prefect like Gemma—congratulating him.

"Yaxley, Aelia," was now, at last, called to the stool. She took her seat and glanced warily up at the Sorting Hat as it was lowered over her head. Harry crossed his fingers beneath the table, and after about thirty long seconds the Sorting Hat shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry joined the table in applauding his friend as she proudly took her seat next to him. They smiled to one another while "Zabini, Blaise" was sorted into Slytherin, bringing the ceremony to a close.

Now that he was no longer worried about being sent back to the Dursleys, Harry found himself staring at his empty golden plate. It had been some time since he had eaten his last sweet on the train, and he hadn't had a proper meal since breakfast.

"Welcome!" said Dumbledore, having taken to his feet. His wrinkled face further creased by a soft yet genuine smile, he spread his arms apart as he addressed the Great Hall. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you."

The Great Hall was again filled with applause while the headmaster reclaimed his seat. Unsure whether he was supposed to laugh, he asked Aelia, "is he a bit mad?"

"I doubt it. Father thinks it's all an act to make people underestimate him," she said quietly. "One thing I know for certain is that he is _ridiculously_ powerful; he defeated Gellert Grindelwald."

"Who?"

"A very powerful Dark Wizard, much like Voldemort—this was nearly fifty years ago, of course."

Harry was about inquire further about the headmaster when a whaff of roast chicken caught his nose. Glancing down, his jaw went slack. The entire table was now _piled_ with every manner of food: roast beast, chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and (oddly) peppermint humbugs.

Piling his plate with a bit of everything short of the humbugs, Aelia observed him with a grin on her face.

"It's just like when we first had luncheon together," she said. "Do try and observe proper etiquette—you're among strangers."

"Yeah, fine," grumbled Harry, picking up his knife with his right hand and the fork with his left. That was _another_ lesson she had given him in the last days of August—which utensils to use, when to use them, and even how to hold them.

In all fairness, however, most _were_ minding their manners at the Slytherin table. As far as he could see, the only exception were two rather large and scary-looking boys seated further down. _They_ seemed to regard their knife and fork as occasional necessities when they couldn't find a way to fit something whole into their mouth.

"That's Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle," said Aelia. "They're a fine example of how _not_ to behave."

He heard a light chuckle from behind her. Leaning forward, he locked eyes with Blaise Zabini. Just from looking at the other boy, Harry could tell that he was someone who thought very highly of himself.

"Those two have been like lost puppies ever since Malfoy left for Durmstrang," mused Zabini, turning up his nose at the room. "Maybe you can adopt them, Yaxley."

"You're mad if you think I'm house training Crabbe and Goyle," said Aelia dryly.

"True, you seem to prefer the company of _celebrities_ these days," said Zabini, smirking to Harry.

"I suppose there's no need to introduce my friend to you, then."

Zabini's smirk broadened until it revealed a few glimmering white teeth. Extending his hand in greeting, Harry reluctantly accepted. "Potter; I hadn't pegged you for a Slytherin—and it's very rare for me to be wrong about _anything._ Let's hope the Sorting Hat didn't make a mistake."

Harry immediately regretted accepting his offered hand. Was he _really_ that rude to everyone he spoke to? This couldn't be considered acceptable behaviour, right?

"You'll see, Zabini," said Aelia sharply. "Harry will be one of the best students in this year!"

Harry _really_ wished she would stop saying things like that, but then, being successful and "great" was all they seemed to talk about here. Even for first years like himself, the main topic was on how they could help earn more House points, as Slytherin had failed to win the House Cup the previous year. They seemed to find this intolerable.

"I'll be happy if I can make it through all my classes this week," said Harry.

Zabini gave an airy laugh. "I'm certain the great Harry Potter is already well-versed in magic. But then again, I _have_ heard that you were raised by _Muggles_, of all things."

He reminded Harry of a more extreme version of Aelia in a lot of ways—the mockery, the same snobbish sense of superiority. He could only hope that Blaise Zabini was also warmer than he seemed, once he got to know him better.

"_Potter,"_ whispered a hoarse voice, sending a sharp chill rushing up his spine. Turning slowly, he was greeted with the gaunt, pallid face of the Bloody Baron. Having interposed himself between Harry and Pansy Parkinson (who looked equally unhappy), he easily towered over them both. "I expect that you will be crucial in returning the House Cup to its proper owners. The previous year saw our winning streak broken by Gryffindor, a travesty if I ever saw one."

"I'm sorry," said Harry, wanting to avoid saying anything to upset the terrifying spectre.

The Bloody Baron scoffed contemptuously. "Do not waste your breath on apologizing for the failings of others, Potter. Instead, prove your worth by ensuring our victory this year."

"I'll…make sure and do my best, sir," he said, glancing to Aelia. She looked quite uneasy with the baron's closeness as well, only able to offer a sympathetic smile.

"See that you do. Now, finish stuffing your face—I've grown tired of this conversation."

Watching the spirit drift away to trouble some other unfortunate Slytherin, Harry suppressed a shiver. Why couldn't their House ghost be somebody friendly, like the Fat Friar had been? None of the other spirits he could see drifting about the Great Hall seemed nearly so unpleasant.

Deciding to not let his brief encounter with the baron ruin his meal, he could soon feel his stomach pressing at his robes and suspected the same held true for most of the other students at the table. They had all gorged themselves until they were fit to burst. The food soon vanished, leaving the plates as sparkling clean as they had been before.

Amazingly, this was not to be the end of their feast: just as soon as the remaining food had disappeared, a vast selection of desserts had taken their place. Blocks of ice cream of every flavour, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs, jam doughnuts, and many more. It was almost painful; he was already stuffed, and yet they were simply too delicious-looking to ignore.

Helping himself to a treacle tart, Harry noted that the topic of discussion at their table had at last shifted away from House points. Instead, they appeared to be boasting to one another about the respective sizes of their family trees. From what he could gather from their bragging, the less Muggles one had in their family, the better they were regarded.

"Aelia, why do you all hate Muggles so much?" asked Harry, keeping his voice low.

She tilted her head, frowning. "I don't—wait, we've talked about this, remember? When you asked me why we have to hide?"

"I remember asking that," said Harry. "Why? Does us hiding have something to do with it?"

"It has _everything_ to do with it," whispered Aelia. "Most everything, anyway. Even before we started hiding, they were always trying to kill us."

He recalled reading about the persecution of witches throughout history when he read _A History of Magic_. "It doesn't sound like they were very good at it, though."

"Maybe not against adults, but kids like us?" Aelia glanced about the table. "Many young witches and wizards were killed back then. There's lots of good reasons to not like Muggles."

"But the Muggles who marry witches and wizards clearly don't hate them, right?"

Aelia shook her head, her blue eyes darting about the table. This was seemingly to make sure that none of their housemates had overheard their whispered conversation. "A lot of them don't even know they've married one of us…which is rather manky now that I think about it."

"Yeah, a bit," said Harry.

While he didn't entirely agree with her and the others here, at least he knew why Aelia felt the way she did now. His own experiences growing up in the Muggle world were certainly far from the best, but he just couldn't bring himself to toss all of them into the same boat as the Dursleys. After all, up until just a few months ago, he had believed he _was_ one of them.

Listening once more to the ongoing conversation between the other students at the Slytherin table, he slowly started to understand the basics of their strange social hierarchy. Three generations of only witches and wizards made one a pure-blood, while six made a family worthy of being placed on something called _the Pure-Blood Directory—_which was apparently in sore need of an update, to hear some students tell it_._

The Yaxleys had twelve generations of witches and wizards in their family, as did the Blacks, Notts, Crouches, Malfoys, Lestranges, and even the Weasleys, all dating back to 1692, when the Statute of Secrecy was first signed.

Beneath all of them were the Muggleborns, who came from all-Muggle families despite being witches or wizards themselves. They seemed quite an unpopular topic of discussion, as more than once a Prefect had admonished a first year for making a disparaging remark about them.

"Do not use that word, Nott," said Gemma sharply. "Especially not in the Great Hall."

Theodore Nott crinkled his nose, a mixture of confusion and anger flashing across his face. "Since when are you a Mud – Muggle-born Lover, Farley?"

"Watch it," she warned, her hazel eyes narrowing dangerously. "Professor Black will not tolerate any language that might warrant _Ministry attention."_

Several of the Slytherin students exchanged uneasy glances with one another.

Folding his arms, Theodore Nott glared at his plate. "Malfoy's father was right about this school."

Where the Potters fell in all this talk of blood purity, Harry didn't know. He didn't particularly care, either, except that he was now concerned that it might make fitting in more difficult. Though his parents were a witch and wizard, he knew he had Muggles in his family, much as said Muggles might wish it to be otherwise, so what did that make him?

"Aelia," he whispered, "am I a…Muggle-born?"

Aelia looked almost startled by his question, but quickly shook her head. "No! Not at all, Harry. You're a half-blood. Most witches and wizards are, in fact. Even Slytherin has quite a few."

"That's a relief," said Harry.

If he was something common, then maybe he would stick out less, for good or ill.

As the banquet neared its end, Harry started feeling warm and sleepy. After that long train ride, he was looking forward to meeting with his new bed.

Glancing up at the High Table again, Harry saw that Hagrid was still drinking heavily from his goblet. Dumbledore was watching the feasting students with a placid and content smile, while McGonagall spoke with a gray-haired wizard, presumably one of the other professors.

Harry felt like he recognized the man's face, but he couldn't quite recall from where. Looking to Gemma, who he assumed would know all the Professors by now, he asked, "Who is that?"

"Oh, you don't know? That's Arsenius Jigger," she explained. "He was the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor from the mid-forties into the early sixties. Rumour has it that he offered to come out of retirement as a favour to the headmaster this year, since there's been so much trouble filling the position."

_Now_ Harry remembered where he had seen his face. Arsenius Jigger was the author of _the Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts_, a book he had seen Aelia reading back at Little Whinging.

"It's about time we had a _capable_ Defence professor—the last few were simply _abysmal,"_ said Gemma.

After the desserts had disappeared, the headmaster once again stood to address the Great Hall. "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Harry noticed that Dumbledore had glanced in the direction of the Weasley twins, and recalled Hagrid mentioning that he often had trouble keeping them out of the forest. He wondered what could be in such a place that they found so irresistible?

He then warned them against the use of magic in the corridors, something several students at the Slytherin table quietly scoffed at. Far more interesting, however, was the upcoming Quidditch trials. He had been looking forward to playing the game since Aelia told him about it months ago.

"I'm going to try out when the trials start," said Harry.

Gemma Farley chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Potter. Leaving aside that you're still a first year, the Slytherin quidditch team is full."

Harry's shoulders sank in disappointment. He hadn't even considered that there might have been no spots open on their team. Though, now that he thought about it, he didn't even have his own broom to ride, so it might have been hopeless to begin with.

"And now," cried Dumbledore, "before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"

With a quick gesture of his wand, he expelled a golden ribbon from the tip that rose above the four tables and coiled through the air like a serpent to form words. The teachers beside the headmaster collectively forced a smile.

"Everyone pick your favourite tune—and off we go!"

And the Great Hall began to sing, _"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please~"_

It appeared to have no set tune, but this didn't seem to deter many of the other students. Even Aelia happily sang the whimsical song along with the others, leaving behind her usual posh demeanour in that moment. Ultimately, everyone ended up finishing at different points—the Weasley twins were the last, singing the lyrics as if they were a funeral march. Dumbledore nevertheless conducted for them until the very end and clapped louder than anyone else.

"Ah, music," said Dumbledore, wiping the tears from his eyes, "a magic beyond any we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

"First years, with me!" said Gemma. The Slytherin first years followed her through the crowd of older students, leaving the Great Hall behind. From there, she led them through a door to the right of the entrance hall and down a long, stone staircase into what looked like a dungeon. Tired and stuffed with food, Harry's legs felt heavy—though the rapidly cooling air kept him rather more alert than he might otherwise have been.

She guided them through the labyrinthine passageways, and Harry wondered how he was supposed to remember his way about the seemingly endless corridors without a guide. They eventually arrived at a bare and damp stone wall. Gemma cleared her throat.

"Aegis."

Gasps of excitement rose from the crowd of first years as a stone door concealed within the wall slid open. It reminded Harry a bit of the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"The password will be changed every two weeks," said Gemma, leading them through the newly opened passage. "I strongly advise against forgetting it, and under absolutely _no_ circumstances are you to tell it to a student from another House. The penalty for doing so will be _severe._"

The Slytherin common room was a long chamber of stone. Round lamps suspended from the ceiling by chains were primarily responsible for keeping the subterranean room lit, their steady green glow accentuating the similarly coloured furniture. Against the far wall was a fireplace framed by an expertly carved mantle that was adorned with what looked to be the skulls of various creatures. Finally, a small school of fish darting by the window revealed that they were, in fact, _underwater._

"Occasionally you can catch the giant squid swimming past the windows," said Gemma, smirking to the awestruck first years. "Now that we don't have the rest of the faculty breathing down our necks, Professor Black wishes for me to clear the air on the matter of pure-blood supremacy. Goodie."

A few of the students around Harry shifted nervously on their feet, and even Aelia was looking a little apprehensive about the subject at hand.

"To speak candidly, displays of pureblood supremacism will not be tolerated outside the walls of this dungeon," said Gemma, her eyes drifting between each of the first years. "These are dangerous times, and the Ministry is always looking for an excuse to crack down on any suspected 'Death Eater apologists'."

Many of the students then glanced to Aelia, who shrunk slightly beneath their collective gaze.

"With that out of the way, it's time to rest," continued Gemma, "but remember—work hard, stay sharp, and strive for victory, no matter the cost."

Gemma then directed the girls through one door to their dormitories and the boys through another. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that Harry wouldn't be sharing a dorm with Aelia. Instead, he would be sharing his first night with a group of strangers. It was too bad that Ernest was in another House.

Fortunately, it hardly mattered; they were all so full and tired that they had mostly ignored one another, merely pulling on their pyjamas and climbing into their respective beds—four-posters hung with dark jade curtains. Harry could hear the gentle lapping of the lake against the dorm windows, and this made it quite easy to fall asleep.

That night, he had a very strange dream.

He was sitting in Professor Jigger's classroom, listening to him give a lecture on the Dark Arts. At one point during the lecture he called for Harry to come and assist him in a demonstration, which involved removing each of Harry's limbs one by one for all the class to see. As he lay there helpless on his back, the Professor then asked the other children to come and try their hand at finishing what "the Dark Lord couldn't".

Cormac McLaggen was the first one to step forward, grinning viciously down at him. A flash of green light burst from his wand, and Harry woke with a gasp.

Clearly, he had eaten far too many sweets before bed.

* * *

Ah, at school and sorted at last! I hope you all truly enjoyed that chapter, it was quite fun to write! I know it took a while to reach this point, but thank you all for following my story up till now! The real meat of the story begins here!

**DS2010 writes:** _"__Interesting trip on the train, I like the group of friends Harry made"_

**My response:** I felt it might be boring if Harry made all of the same friends, given how very different his circumstances are in this story. That being said, I also wanted to avoid pushing characters away from him when it made sense for them to still interact. Many of the characters you're familiar with will still have a noticeable presence within the story, though may not fill the same narrative role they did in canon.

Alright everyone, see you on February 18th!


	10. Hiatus

Hi all!

I really appreciate the dedication my readers and reviewers have shown to me and this story! It means the world to me when you share your thoughts and I'm able to engage in discussions with you at the end of each chapter! Your support has kept this story going for well over a hundred pages now!

That being said, I'm sorry to announce that Harry Potter and the Book of Lost Souls will be going on a hiatus. The simple truth is that I wrote the chapters you've been reading many months ahead of time, and then proof read and even partially rewrote them over the past few months. But now I must write these next chapters completely from scratch, which takes considerably more time than two weeks. If I tried to rush them to fit within that schedule, the quality of the story would surely drop, and I doubt anyone wants that!

But for those of you who have been enjoying the story, don't worry! This fanfic is NOT abandoned! I'll be working on it during the hiatus, writing out the next half of the story! Once it's finished, I'll resume uploading new chapters!

Thank you for sticking with me these past few months! I hope you'll stick with me through this hiatus, too! Remember to follow and favorite to know when the uploads resume!


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